Baker's Dozen
by Tiger Lily Roar
Summary: For most of his life, Harry Potter has been hunted. He was hunted by Dudley and his friends. Then he was hunted by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Now, after making a life for himself in the Muggle World, Harrison Evans has found himself hunted once again
1. July 26, 2009

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I have recently discovered the titillating world of Criminal Minds. I've only seen maybe a dozen different episodes, but I love it. The characters, the grittiness, the macabre element of getting into the head of such horrifying criminals. It's a fun world to play in. That being said, I had no intention of really getting in to writing Fanfic for another fandom. I' have my hands full with my Young Justice pieces. However, what the Troll - SMACK!- Muse wants, the tr - er, Muse gets. He tossed me this to nibble on and the next thing I know I'm off and running. I just hope I can bounce between the two fandoms without too many hiccups. I hope those who have me on their author alerts don't mind the difference, and any new readers I hope you take a peek at my other pieces. That said... on with the show! (No Beta reader. Mistakes are all mine.)

**DISCLAIMERS: **Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me. I sincerely wish they did, but they don't so I just have to be satisfied with playing in their sandboxes from time to time. There will be grusome descriptions and some swearing, perhaps a little slashiness - I haven't decided yet. However, I have rated it to be safe.

**SUMMARY:** For most of his life, Harry Potter has been hunted. He was hunted by Dudley and his friends. Then he was hunted by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Now, after making a life for himself in the Muggle World Harrison Evans has found himself hunted once again. Targeted by a killer, will he be just another statistic or will the Agents of the Behavioral Analysis Unit be able to hunt the hunter before he catches his prey.

* * *

**JULY 2009**

The fluid was thick, rich, dark; everything that chocolate was meant to be. It flowed over the cool slap of white and grey marble, quickly rising its viscosity as it was worked beneath expert hands and tools. It was pulled, shaped, rolled, until it began to pebble and stick to itself. The hands deftly formed pieces of the now cooled chocolate into near perfectly shaped balls before setting them on a fine wire mesh set inside a tub of ice.

"Why the ice, Harrison?"

The green eyed man smiled warmly at the young man that was watching him closely. "You'll see."

When the last of the still warm balls were set on the mesh, Harrison retrieved two unopened bottles of Pernod-Ricard Perrier-Jouet Champagne. He offered one to his sous chef with a mischievous glint in his gem-like eyes.

The assistant chef looked at the bottle with wide eyes. "Are you insane, Harrison? These are four thousand dollar bottles of champagne! Each!"

"Just open it, Rhys," The man ordered with a light chuckle.

"I'll do it if you won't," a lilting voice from the back of the kitchen called. A young brunette stepped out around a shelf of drying dishes while wiping soap suds onto her apron. "I'll never get another chance to open such an expense bottle of Champagne."

"Not on your life, Keandra," Rhys stuck his tongue out at the teen and started removing the gold foil from the yellow bottle. A moment later, after untwisting the wire holding the cork in place, he looked to his chef with unfettered doubt in his expression. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Harrison thumbed the cork out of his bottle and a second later a shower of foam shot from the bottle and into the tub of ice.

The second bottle followed and the trio watched as the sparkling liquor reacted with the ice and the foaming expanded until it completely covered the still warm balls of chocolate.

"What the hell is that?"

The soft alto of Helen, the college student who managed the front register, drew the attention three kitchen staff for only a brief moment before they all turned back to the foaming and frothing tub on the middle of the prep table.

"Oh, I'd say about a year's tuition?" Keandra told the other girl with a snicker.

"Now," Harrison put the empty bottle onto the table and pulled gently on the two hooks on one side of the still foaming tub, "help me take them out, Rhys, and into the bed of cacao powder on the tray over there."

Following the older man's instructions, the wire mesh was lifted from the tub. Leaving a dripped trail of champagne, the two gingerly carried the near three dozen balls of foam covered chocolate to a second table. They set it into the deep baking pan that was halfway filled with a dark powder with flecks of red. Taking a handful of the powder, Harrison started picking up the balls and dusting them until dry.

"You've never made these before," Helen commented as she lifted herself up to sit on the edge of the prep table. She dipped her finger in the champagne bathed ice and sucked it into her mouth.

"Hey," Harrison snapped, pointing a chocolate covered finger at her with a frown. "You're still two years off from having that legally! Hands off or I'll find someone else to manage the counters out front."

Keandra smirked at the older girl as Helen held her hands up in surrender and moved to pull herself up onto the large prep area beside the other girl. "So what made you play?"

"It's been a while, Harrison," Rhys commented as he started cleaning up the marble slab while the chocolatier worked on his newest creation. "Especially a truffle."

"I was inspired, "green eyes sparkled as the man pushed back his fringe from his forehead with the back of his wrists, exposing the scar over his right eye briefly. "And it's not your typical truffle."

"Dare we ask by what you changed?" Keandra shuddered dramatically. "For all we know you're adding arsenic and rat poison and it would still be the best thing this side of god!"

"No poison, I promise," Harrison laughed. "Instead of heavy cream I used sour cut with butter milk."

"And the champagne?" Rhys whined, eying the empty bottles.

"Trust me," was all Harrison said as he started setting the finished non-truffles on a wax paper covered tray.

"Will you tell me what you've added to the cacao mixture?" Helen stretched her neck to get a better view of the finished product. "I'd almost say chili pepper, but there seems to be an oilier sheen to it."

"Close," the last of the balls was set out and Harrison moved to a nearby sink to wash up. "Care to try one?"

"He's kidding, right?" Keandra and Helen were off the counter and next to the tray of confection in an instant, each one eye for the largest.

"Don't bite it, let it melt," Harrison instructed.

Rhys calmly walked over to the cacao and spice mixture and dipped a small amount onto his pinky finger. Touching it to his tongue he paused a moment and then gasped as he started turning a bright pink. "Habanera? You are insane!"

Harrison grinned wickedly as the girls had just popped one into their mouths. Immediately their eyes widened and their faces started going red. But only a second later both teens moaned low and closed their eyes.

Helen grabbed hold of Keandra's arm. "Sweet merciful heavens," she gasped. "It's like the world's hottest stripper, naked and covered in chocolate all for me!"

Rhys arched an eyebrow at that and Harrison only laughed when Keandra nodded her agreement with the sentiment. "Rhys, sugar, you've got to try one!"

The sous chef glanced between the two girls and his chef before walking over to the cooling tray and took one of the perfectly formed balls. He scowled at the dare he saw in the other man's eyes and popped it into his mouth.

Seconds later he was leaning back against the prep table as his senses were overloaded. "Holy shit," he muttered around a mouth of melting chocolate.

"How do you do it?" Helen asked breathlessly.

"Magic," Harrison answered with a teasing smile as he started cleaning up. "Also, six years of studying under the best Chocolatiers in the world."

"It was the champagne," Rhys said after a moment of contemplation. "The still warm chocolate and the iced champagne; when it fizzed over the truffles it created bubbles of liquor that were absorbed by the cacao and habanera powder, leaving behind the tiny pockets of flavor."

"Brilliant," Keandra sighed and reached for another.

"Ah, ah, ah," Harrison intercepted her with a slap to her hand. "You know the rules."

"That's just wrong," Helen folded her arms over her chest. "You make dozens of them but you'll only ever let us have one."

"They're not for you," Harrison told her lightly. "They're for a customer in Phoenix. His order goes out in the morning and this will be his bonus. That is, of course, if you've remembered to pack his order."

Helen ran back to the front with a quiet squeak while Keandra went back to her dishes with a giggle. Rhys was smiling as he helped his boss clean up the kitchen for the night. "You still didn't answer what inspired you to play," he said casually though the implied question was anything but.

"I don't know," Harrison replied honestly. "I called Phoenix this morning to confirm the order and I spoke with the guy for a few minutes. After that, it was like I couldn't shake the feeling. There was something inside that brain of mine that this guy sparked for one reason or another."

"Magic," Rhys smirked.

Harrison scoffed. "It would definitely make cleaning this mess up easier."

"If only it were true," the sous sighed and the two men chuckled as they got back to work.

Ten minutes later, the kitchen was spotless and armed with bottles of food grade sanitizer both Rhys and Harrison were getting it clean at the microscopic level. Keandra was putting away the last of the now dried dishes and setting out equipment needed for the morning pastry and coffee rush. Helen drifted in from the front, six specially designed boxes carried carefully in hand.

"Here we are, boss-man," the would-be college sophomore set them on an unsanitized portion of the table space. She laid them out, side by side, and flipped the lids open. Three rows of four chocolates filled each box, a single empty square waiting for the final piece above them.

Harrison put down his bottle of cleaner and grabbed a latex glove from the closest box. He snapped it on and approached the tray of still cooling truffles. He paused when he realized his three employees were watching with rapt attention. He smirked at them. "You know what, why don't you three head out? I can finish up in here."

Helen and Keandra exchanged looks and the younger teen offered her boss a sly smile. "Sure boss, if we can have one more of those Savory Lava Bombs."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Savory Lava Bomb?"

Rhys snorted in amusement. "It's a good name for them, Harrison."

"I suppose it is," Harrison agreed. "Fine. You can each have one more then I want you out of here for the night. I'll finish up."

The girls squealed and were gone out the front door with their pilfered confection before either man could blink.

Laughing at their antics, Rhys watched his friend and boss place a single Lava Bomb into the empty square. "Are you sure, Harrison? I don't mind sticking around and helping you clean up."

"It's just about done," the older man said distractedly as he finished the last box and started closing them. "I was thinking I might play for a while before I head home. You don't need to be stuck here watching and cleaning up after me."

"But who would be at your beck and call and eat your mistakes?" Rhys teased as he walked over to the supply shelves and retrieved six long strips of red and gold ribbon.

As he tied the ribbons around the boxes, Harrison smiled his appreciation. "I thank I can manage, but thanks for the offer."

A few minutes later the two were heading out through the store's front and to the entrance. Harrison held it open for his sous chef as the younger man stepped out into the night. "Come with me," Rhys said suddenly, an air of worry evident in his voice. "We can head down to the Tavern and get a drink or ten."

"I don't drink that much, you know that."

"More for me then!" Rhys grabbed his bosses arm gently. "I don't like the idea of you here, alone, at night."

Harrison laughed derisively. "I'm a big boy, Rhys; I should be able to look after myself by now. I'll be twenty-nine in a few days and nothing's managed to kill me yet."

"It only takes once." Rhys tightened his grip. "Please?"

"All right," the Chocolatier nodded his consent with an affectionate smile. "I'll put the new batch in the chiller over night and lock up. I'll be right there. Order me a Fuller's 1845 Ale, okay?"

Rhys was grinning with satisfaction and started his way down the street. "Nah, I'll order you a Bud."

"Oy! None of your wimpy American Swill!" Harrison teased, letting his obvious British accent come out. "Fuller's or you'll never work in this town again!"

"You'd fall apart without me!" the sous chef shouted from halfway down the block. "You know you love me, you great British fag you!"

Harrison was laughing as he closed the door and locked it. He was still chortling as he activated the storefront gate and they lowered electronically from the ceiling to lock into place over the display windows and front door.

Finding himself now alone in his sanctuary, Harrison Evans looked once around the kitchen before going into the office. He keyed in the code for his safe and opened it a moment later. Inside were the stores documents and ledgers, but it was what was hidden in the back he was reaching for. In a lip at the very back, just below the standard bottom of the save, he retrieved the long slender piece of wood.

Eleven inches long, holly and phoenix feather core, it was another extension of himself that he was incomplete without. He may have stopped being Harry Potter years ago, but he had never stopped being a wizard, and the wand – which he retrieved every night after being locked away first thing in the morning – was like a lifelong friend. It was warm and familiar and the only part that remained of his former life.

Pushing past the memories that would over take him if he allowed them, Harrison closed and sealed the safe again. Back in the kitchen he glanced around before stepping up to the boxes for delivery in the morning and the truffles waiting to be sold in the morning. Drawing his wand slowly over them, he incanted a single "_Servare_" and a near invisible layer of light fell across the confections. They would be preserved now, as fresh as the moment he finished making them, even if they were eaten ten years from now.

Another swish and flick of his wand had the heavy and awkward tray of chocolates floating into the large walk-in refrigerator. Knowing Rhys would be waiting for him, Harrison slipped his wand into the special pocket he had sewn into the sleeve of his denim jacket as he donned the garment.

Making sure everything was turned off, Harrison keyed in the alarm code and the warning chimes sounded. He opened the back door and stepped into the alley, his doorway illuminated by the spotlight he had installed only two months ago. He pulled the door closed and slipped his key into lock.

Before he could turn it, a black gloved hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from the key ring hanging from the door. Harrison cried out it surprise and pain as his arm was wrenched and twisted behind his back. A damp rag was clamped tightly over his mouth and nose, the acrid smell of some chemical burning his airways.

He struggled to free his wand arm but the grip was merciless as he pulled the arms further up his back, twisting his shoulder until he thought it would pop from its socket. The fingers of his other hand were clawing at the wrist near his head, digging into pressure points and what weak spots he knew, but the man holding him only hissed at the pain but would not release.

Harrison's vision began to blur and his struggles were weakening. He fought harder to free his arm from behind his back, twisting and turning his body as much as he could, but he was suddenly away of a dulled pain in his shoulder. Clouds were overtaking his thoughts and he knew he didn't have long before he lost consciousness.

With what strength he had left he kicked out. His heal connected solidly with the still unlocked door and it was forcibly slammed open. At once the alarm was blaring, but the sound was lost on Harrison.

His body gave in to the chemical dragging him toward the dark and the monster lurking therein.


	2. July 28, 2009 3:25pm

**Author's Note:** Wow! Already 75 readers have alerted this story and almost half of those have faved it after only one chapter! I'm flattered and I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint.

This chapter was so hard to write! There's so much information that's being thrown at you and there's no real action, but without taking chapter after chapter to get this all out there I figured this is the quickest way to do so. Hopefully it's not that bad to read.

So this story seems to be really flowing, which is unusual for me. I've got it plotted out, researched, and the third chapter already partially written. I'm hoping to be able to update it every two to three days. So long as I don't hit a snag, I don't see why I shouldn't be able to keep to that schedule. I you you all enjoy it as much as I am writing it! =)

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 28, 2009 (__3:25pm)_

"Garcia, are you with us?"

_"You're coming in loud and clear, Hotch."_

"Let's begin then." Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner told his team as the FBI jet used by the Behavioral Analysis Unit leveled off. He released his seat belt and rose from his chair, handing each of his five present team members a thick information packet. "In the last eight years there have been twelve murders."

"Twelve that we know of?" Special Agent Spenser Reid asked as he opened the folder.

"What little pattern there is suggests only the twelve." Aaron clarified. "The first was in April 2001, a missing person's report from Darlington County, South Carolina. The body of Elizabeth Graham, age thirty-four, was found in a shallow grave in October 2003 in the Pearl Fryar Topiary Garden outside Bishopville, approximately thirty-three miles from where she lived in Society Hill.

"She was found alongside three other bodies: Terrance McDonald, age sixty-two from Pamplico, missing since November of 2001; Caleb Zimmerman, age nineteen from Pinewood, reported missing January 2002; Deacon Hazelaar, age twenty-six, missing from Horatio since July of 2003."

The team leader paused, leaning against the side of his seat as they glanced over the files. "Their eyes and mouths had been sewn shut prior to death and then suffocated before being stripped and buried in consecrated soil."

"Consecrated?" Spencer perked up somewhat. "How did they ascertain that?"

"Trace elements in the soil containing Myrrh oil." Emily Prentiss read the report in her hand.

"That would imply a religious undertone to the killings," David Rossi suggested. "Perhaps pagan or occult in nature?"

"There's more," Aaron continued. "The thread used to stitch their mouths and eyes was pure silk; completely organic, uncolored and only treated with a water and Myrrh oil mixture. The ropes the Unsub used to bind the victims' wrists were also one hundred percent organic silk with traces of water and Myrrh oil."

"Maybe it was Holy Water?" Spencer posed. "There are still four mainstream religions that use consecrated oil for rites and blessings: The, uh, Roman Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, and Mormon. The Unsub could be a member of one denomination."

"Another five bodies were found," Aaron told them, prompting them to move on, "in June of 2007 on the Hanging Rock Battleground Property; only 50 miles from Wedgefield, South Carolina, where fifty-four year old Angelica Singleton was reported missing in December of 2003."

"After the first gravesite was found," Jennifer Jareau pointed out.

"Caroline Shaw," Hotchner nodded as he continued, "age thirty-four from Kershaw was reported missing in January of 2005. Jameson Alexander, age forty-one, went missing from Mulberry in August of 2005. The first deviation from the pattern of one victim at a time were newlyweds Sarah Pattison nee Eskola, age twenty-three, and Micah Pattison, age twenty six. They went missing together from their home in Camden in May of 2007."

"Could they be random targets?" Derek questions. "There's no noticeable pattern to his victims; age, race, gender doesn't seem to matter to him. And branching out from single individuals to two at once, it could be his escalation?"

"It's possible, but unlikely," David says from his seat as he flips through the multiple papers. "The sporadic periods of times between killing… he may need that time to find his next victim. He's hunting, looking for something specific that the victims had in common. Something beneath the surface that hasn't been notice yet. Something that both Sarah and Micah Pattison had."

"_I'm on it,"_ Penelope Garcia said from over the speaker phone, the clacking of her keyboard back in their offices in Quantico sounding lightly, as those on route to South Carolina went on with the debriefing.

"Now, two months ago," Aaron got up again and paced the length of the private jet, "A third site was found with three new bodies in Hartsville. The country club was expanding its golf course and found the graves. As well as the second deviation from a possible pattern: Emma Tinkerton."

"Oh god," JJ breathed with a hand covering her mouth as she read the next missing person's report. "She was only thirteen."

"This is why this guy is so dangerous," David said grimly. "No one is safe; everyone is a potential target."

"Emma Tinkerton, age thirteen, went missing from her home in Johnsonville in August of 2007. Jason Novex, age thirty-one, last seen in Timmonsville February 2008. And the last known victim was Delilah Watterson, age forty-six, missing from Shiloh since November of 2008. All three were found in the Hartsville site in the same condition as the others: eyes and mouths sewn shut, naked, and hands bound together."

"Why are we just being notified now?"Derek asked while his brow creased with concern.

"Because it's believed the Unsub has abducted his next victim." Aaron turned on the HD screen at the front of the cabin and continued as it warmed up. "The gravesites were used until they were discovered and then he moved on to the new site with new victims. In the two months since the last grave site was discovered there have been four missing persons reported in Lee County, Darlington County, Florence County, Sumter County, and Kershaw County. These seem to be his preferred hunting grounds and the four reported missing each came from one or the other."

"How will we know if they were targeted or not?" Emily raised the concern they all shared. "They have never identified one of his victims just from the missing person's report. Only after their bodies have been found have they connected them to the same killer."

"There is a basic pattern to his victims," David leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on his knees. "They were adults and single. There have only been two deviations to those criteria but, without knowing the exact reason they were targeted in the first place, they can be disregarded for the time being."

"So, adult and single." JJ confirmed.

Aaron brought the four missing person's reports up onto the large screen through his laptop. "Marilyn French and Timothy Walters were reported missing five weeks ago by their parents. Both sixteen, and in a relationship together, it's believed they ran away together when their parents attempted to restrict their time together. Rita Rathwell, fifty-eight, has been a permanent resident of the Darlington long term Psychiatric facility for the last three years. Her husband passed away two weeks ago and she wandered off from the facility the day following his funeral. Her remaining family believes she may have committed suicide in her grief."

"So he's the target then?" Derek pointed to the picture of the dark haired man. "Harrison Evans?"

"Twenty-eight years old, single, small business owner; went missing from downtown Hartsville approximately forty-two hours ago. With him, however, the local Sheriff's department got lucky. Because of the grave site discovery at the Hartsville Country Club, many people in town got paranoid. Mr. Evans had just upgraded his security system."

"Please say there's video?" Emily pleaded lightly.

"External only, but there is video and it's the reason we've been called in now." Aaron keyed up the video and started playback. The screen was silent, but the quality was digital and very crisp.

The team watched as the same dark-haired man from the police report photograph stepped out of the shop and into the bright light of the alley.

"Smart," Spencer commented, "with the light."

"There's the suspected Unsub," David said as a second man stepped into the picture. His back was to the camera, his face obscured, and they watched as Harrison was grabbed from behind.

"Look at him fight," Derek couldn't disguise his impressed tone. "They guy has to have a good five inches on him and still Evans' making him work for it."

"He knows there's a killer on the loose," JJ said. "He's fighting for his life."

They watched as the struggles weakened.

"Chloroform or ether," Spencer pointed to a rag now noticeable as the fight has shifted their positions to the camera. Unfortunately the attacker's face was still hidden by Harrison's body. "He lasted longer than most his body size would have."

"He's not done yet." Derek and the others watched as the assaulted man tensed briefly before kicking the shop door open, only to collapse against his assailant a scant second later. Harrison Evans was then picked up and carried over the abductor's shoulder off camera.

"The alarm had the Sheriff there in less than three minutes." Aaron informed them. "Whatever means of getaway, they were long done before that. No other camera in the vicinity caught anything."

"So our Unsub is familiar with the area." David offered. "He knew which route to take to make sure he wasn't seen or caught on video."

"But he didn't know about Evans' new camera," Emily contradicted. "Or if he did, he didn't care."

"He's been hunted before," Spencer said quietly to himself, although the others all heard. When he noticed their curious looks he clarified. "Harrison Evans; the new security system at the first sign of potential danger and the way he fought, it wasn't the fight of someone who thought his life was at risk but of someone who knew it was. Look."

He got up from his seat and approached Aaron, his hand reaching out for the laptop keyboard. He rewound the video to the moment the man was grabbed and then let it play back at half speed. "There. See, he's digging his thumb into the pressure point on the Unsub's wrist holding the rag. The guy, though, is strong enough to ignore it but I guarantee his wrist and hand will be numb for a day or two if not more. And look, Harrison's shoulder, the arm is twisted behind his back but he's risking it dislocating so he can get free." He looked to the other. "He's been grabbed like this before."

"Self defense class maybe?" JJ suggested.

Derek shook his head as he watched the slow motion of the video. "Evans wasn't just willing to risk dislocating his shoulder, he manages it right there. No, Spense is right: Harrison Evans has been in this position before and didn't like it the first time. He wasn't going to let it happen without one hell of a fight. Baby girl, you still with us?"

"_I'm here Hot Stuff,"_ the chipper voice said of the speaker, _"and I am one step ahead as always._

"_Harrison James Evans was born in merry old England as Harry James Potter in 1980. Poor guy, his birthday's in three days. Anyway, his parents were killed – doesn't say how – Halloween of '81. He lived with his maternal Aunt and her husband – man, aren't these people a piece of work! There are no less than two dozen complaints made to Child Serves about them; suspected abuse, neglect and child endangerment just to name a few. All were made during little Harry's primary years but no follow up or investigations were ever made. Then, at the age of eleven, he disappears."_

"Kidnapped?" Emily asks.

"_No missing person's report filed. There's just nothing there come '91. No school records, medical, criminal, nothing until he resurfaces in March of 2000 when he legally changes his name to Harrison James Evans, his mother's maiden name apparently. _

"_After that, he enrolls in an online school program to obtain his A Levels – the equivalent of our GED here – then starts studying in September at the Cordon Bleu in London. He's there only a year then transfers out to the DCT's European Culinary Center in Switzerland where he gains a certificate in European Pasty and Chocolate arts. That's 2004. He next pops up the same year in New York where he studies at the Culinary Institute of America where he goes through an accelerated program to receive his BPS in Baking and Pastry Arts Management. He graduated with top marks and honors in early 2007._

"_He heads to Hartsville, South Carolina, immediately after graduation where he starts __**Barker's Dozen**__ – oh, say it isn't so!"_

"What is it, sweetness?" Derek asked at her suddenly devastated tone.

"_I've ordered his chocolates online! I promise you, they're better than sex! He does this one almond pastry number with a butter crust and a vanilla cherry cream that-"_

"Garcia," Aaron warned lightly.

"_Right. Sorry. Anyway, Harrison Evans pays his taxes in both countries, has citizenship in both and apparently – wow! Apparently, when his parents died he inherited quite the fortune from his father's side of the family. And along with it a title in the House of Lords."_

"He's a British Lord?" David tried not to gape at that information.

"_Twice over."_ Garcia continued somewhat breathlessly. _"His godfather supposedly passed away in 1996. It wasn't declared official until 2000."_

"When Harry, or rather Harrison," Spencer corrected himself, "appears back on public records."

"_Right. Now the godfather had no children of his own, and a condition of his last will and testament saw the then 19 years old Harry Potter, newly renamed Harrison Evans, adopted. He not only inherited another insane fortune from an Ancient and Noble house of England Nobility, but he was granted the second title as well." _

"Is it even possible to adopt someone when you're dead?" Emily asked.

"_It is when the adoption was overseen and approved by the British Prime Minister in office at the time."_

The silence was overwhelming.

"Garcia, can you repeat that please?" JJ asked, stunned.

"_I've got it right here: the adoption was witnessed and signed and legalized by The Right Honourable, Tony Blair."_

"Who is this guy?" Derek gaped.

Aaron was frowning in thought. "Garcia, you said his Godfather supposedly passed away? Was it never confirmed?"

"_See, Hotch, that's where things start getting sticky,"_ the analyst hesitated momentarily. _"There was never any body, but the British Government acknowledged the death in early June of 2000. I can only find the official papers, nothing from the media or associated press. But given whom this guy was it should have been a media nightmare!"_

"Garcia," Aaron prompted her again.

"_Harrison Evan's Godfather, and adoptive father, was the escaped mass murderer Sirius Black."_

Silence reigned for several long moments before Emily cleared her throat, gaining everyone's attention. "Maybe Evans isn't our next victim here. He has two Lordships, apparently a hell of a lot of money, and probably even more enemies because of his godfather! There could be hundreds of reasons why someone would want to kidnap him."

"_I'd think that too if he didn't share the profile of the other victims."_ Garcia told them.

"What profile," JJ shook her head. "There's no commonality between any of them."

"_Not at first, but dig deep enough into their records and you come up with the same anomaly: their public records all stop at the age of eleven."_

"All of them?" Spencer asked in amazement.

"_All of them,"_ she confirms. _"Some show up again seven years later, some longer. It's not exact because Emma breaks the pattern but I've got nothing on her since her eleventh birthday either."She hedged a moment while the others sat in contemplative silence. "Um, there's something else you should know about Harrison Evans."_

"He's really Camilla and Charles love child?" Derek asked sarcastically.

_" Not quite. But he was awarded Knighthood by Queen Elizabeth in 2000 when he reappeared on the radar. I've also got two paparazzi pictures of him walking and talking with the Queen herself. One was taken Christmas of '02 at Sandringham House, and the other in the summer of '04 at Balmoral Castle. As those are both private residences, I can only assume he's personally acquainted with the Queen of England."_

"Perfect," JJ was pale now as she leaned back in her seat. "Not only do we have another victim, but he's one that could cause an international incident if we don't find him before he's killed."

"How long do we have?" Derek asked grimly.

"It's hard to be precise," Aaron told them as equally bleak. "Given the decomposition of the bodies and the length of time between their abduction and the discovery of the bodies, but autopsy findings show they were all killed somewhere between three and seven days after they were last seen."

"So," David said with a frown, "worst case scenario we have just over twenty-four hours to find Sir Harrison James Evans, Lord of the Noble House of Potter and Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black."

**: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :**

The grating of stone against stone echoed in the small space and Harrison squinted against the bright light of the LED lamp his captor brought with him as he descended down the stone steps. After hours alone in the dim, flickering light of candles, the artificial light brought tears to his eyes. He groaned involuntarily and turned his head away from the approaching light.

It was the only part of his body he was able to move.

He came to consciousness only to find himself in his current position: naked and lying stretched uncomfortably on a stone altar. His knees were bent over the lower ledge of the stone, his ankles bound together and somehow secured in place. Rope was wound around his wrists in merciless figure eight loops, with several smaller loops then wrapping vertically between his hands and connected to a metal hook located at the upper edge of the altar. Another length of rope was hooped around his torso and stone altar, keeping his body immobile against the unforgiving stone.

"Don't be like that, Mr. Evans," the tenor voice sounded almost insulted. "I was hoping we could speak some more."

"Fuh-oo," he cursed around the thick fabric of the cleave gag that had been in place since he first regained consciousness after being kidnapped. The man had talked to Harrison several times, for hours on end, but not once had he removed the gag to allow his captive to defend himself or plead for release.

"Really now, such foul language from one of your station?" Calloused fingers gripped his chin between them and forced his head back, the lantern burning bright spots into his vision. "It's quite unbecoming, Mr. Evans. Or would you rather I address you by your titles, Sir Evans? Or is it Lord Potter? Or do you prefer Lord Black? I find Lord Black quite fitting, considering the stain on your immortal soul."

Harrison yanked his head away from the bruising fingers and glared in the direction of the faceless shadow beyond the burning light.

"Glare all you like, _Lord Black_; your kind cannot harm God's children without the tool Satan has given you." A pale skinned hand moved in front of the light, illuminating the slender and familiar length of holly.

Harrison wrenched his arms against their restraints, desperate to reach out and pluck the wand from his captor's fingers. But the results were the same as every time he tested his bindings; they held and he was vulnerable to the man's machinations.

"Yes, I know the power this Devil's Stick holds over you, the temptation it provides. The others were just like you, you know. They were driven to madness as the instrument of their slavery to Sin was denied them. The desperation and longing in their eyes; the same look I see burning in yours at this very moment, Son."

Without warning, the thumb was pressed against the side of the polished wood and snapped as if it were nothing more than the stick it looked like.

The sensation Harrison felt in his very core was heartbreaking and he moaned plaintively as he closed his eyes against the tears of loss forming. He cringed with every subsequent snap he heard as the wand he had used for most of his life was utterly destroyed. There would be no salvaging it this time.

"The sun will begin to set in five hours, Lord Black. Perhaps with the approach of your last night on earth you will be more willing to repent of your sins. We will speak again then."


	3. July 28, 2009 5:45pm

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the delay, I meant to update this last night by got distracted by the BF getting off shift earlier than I expected. *grin*

I am floored by the response I've gotten so far for this story! And very flattered! I just hope I can keep you all interested and maybe entice a few more of you to leave a review? I do so enjoy reading what you all think about my stories!

In the last chapter I touched on a religious aspect to the killings and it will be brought up again in this chapter. I am not a religious person and this is in no way meant to insult or disparage any who do believe. The prayers I've taken excerpts from are part of the Catholic faith and I hope I do not offend anyone with their use. Just thought I should mention that.

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 28, 2009 (__5:45pm)_

"Welcome to Hartsville, Agent Hotchner, Agent Reid." The thirty-something uniformed man shook the BAU agents' hands, his countenance grim as he saw only one other agent with him. "I have to admit, we were hoping for more of a response from the FBI."

"Thank you, Chief," Spencer answered the greeting.

"Lieutenant, actually, Lieutenant Jerry Thompson, I'm only the Interim Chief."

"There are two teams of my agents already in the field," Aaron told the man. "We thought it best, with what little time frame we have to work with, to begin our investigation right away. Myself and Agent Reid will be debriefing you and your deputies before we start interviewing Mr. Evans' employees. Our media Liaison, Agent Jareau and Supervisory Special Agent Rossi remained in Darlington to manage the press conference that will be starting momentarily, which will be giving the public and outlying Departments the initial profile of our Unsub. Agents Morgan and Prentiss are en route to Bishopville to meet with their Police Chief and Lee County's Sheriff Department."

"May I ask, why Bishopville?" One of the nearby officers asked.

"It was the location of the first grave site discovery," Spencer replied easily. "It would be logical that the killer was living there at the time, and may still be."

"So he's a local then?" Another asked, listening in with the growing number of law enforcement officers.

"Why don't we move into the conference room," Lieutenant Thompson suggested, motioning to a larger room set up with several large tables. "We've got about forty five minutes before Rhys shows up with the girls. Though I don't know what else they can tell you, we've already interviewed them."

"Yes, about the night Mr. Evans was abducted." Aaron followed the Lieutenant to the front of the conference room. A dry erase board was set up, one side covered with pictures of the known victims, the other side covered with a blown up smiling photo of Harrison Evans and notes pertaining to the investigation. "We'll want to talk to them about Harrison himself."

"Why do that?" an officer in his early twenties asked as he took a seat close to them. "Harrison's the victim here."

"Knowing what we can about Mr. Evans will give us clues as to why he's been targeted and taken," Spencer explained. "The more we know about him, the more we can compare to the other victims and hope to get more insight into the killer and who he is."

They waited a few minutes longer before Lieutenant Thompson closed the door. "We've got someone from the Lamar and Society Hill PDs here; they'll make sure their departments get the information."

Nodding, his expression as collected as always, Hotchner began. "Our Unsub will be in his late thirties to early fifties. From the video evidence of Harrison Evans' abduction, we know that he is Caucasian, six foot to six foot two, approximately one hundred eighty pounds.

"Now this man has been a member of the community for a number of years, most likely going back to his early childhood. He's comfortable here and in the outlying counties. He may have left for a few years before being drawn back; he may resent this. However, it is more likely that he was anxious to come 'home'.

"He's someone you know; someone integrated and known in the community. He's not prominent or powerful, but he's not an outsider either. He has found the perfect balance between anonymity and familiarity. "

"He has hidden for eight years, so he's not looking for recognition for these killing," Spencer took over the profile. "He's not going to be following the media more than wanting to know if he's at risk of discovery or not. Outwardly, he'll be properly disgusted by the murders but he'll want to change to topic quickly because inwardly he's pleased with himself."

"Each of the victims has been treated respectively," Aaron told them, many of them taking notes. "There are no major injuries, no sign of torture or mistreatment. While naked, there is no evidence of rape. The eyes and mouths have been sewn shut but it was done was precision and care; the lack of tearing or infection tells us this was done just prior to death and that the victim was most likely unconscious or restrained to prevent unnecessary injury. "

"The presence of Myrrh oil, or consecrated oil, suggests a religious background. The way the hands were bound together," Spencer pressed his palms together in front of his chest, pulling his arms together until his elbows touched, "like the victim was praying. The Unsub may be devoutly religious; a member of one of the four denominations that still use consecrated oil in their religious rites: Anglican, Catholic, Lutheran, or Mormon. He will have been raised and educated almost fanatically."

"He's been hunting his victims," Aaron turned to the board of pictures behind him. "He's a hunter, but not necessarily a predator. He may not actively go looking for his victims, but he notices them. Something about them offended him to the point where he had to learn everything about them. He would have watched them, stalked them, and learned their patterns and habits until he was certain that they were what he perceived them to be. Then, and only then, would he make his move: take them, kill them, and then bury them."

Spencer once again took control of the debriefing. "After he's killed them, he'd be withdrawn, introverted. He is lucid enough to realize that he's taking a human like, it's the reason he's respectful to the bodies. He buries them instead of just dumping them. The ground he buries them in is treated with consecrated oil, creating to him what could equate to holy ground: he wants them to find peace in death. The graves themselves are close together, ensuring when one is found they all will be. They are also near populated areas or where there is a high human element. He wants them to be found eventually. "

"He feels guilt for their deaths," Aaron clarifies, "But not for the act of killing them. In his mind, death is the only option to protect his territory, his home. Once their dead, his mission is complete for the time being. During his withdrawal he will do something; a means of penance to absolve himself of his crimes. After he's completed this, he'll be almost euphoric. His world is once again safe."

"We believe we've found the deciding factor in how he chooses his victims," Spencer told them and pointed to the smiling image of Emma Tinkerton. "When her parents reported Emma missing, it was the last week of August. The information given by her family to police said that she attended a private boarding school in Seattle Washington nine months out of the year. They never applied to the school, only that the offer came to Emma on her eleventh birthday. After that, Emma Tinkerton disappeared completely from public records."

"The same pertains to each of the victims, including Harrison Evans." Aaron expanded. "Their public records end after their eleventh birthday. Family interviews all result in the same: they attended a private boarding school somewhere in the US or Western Europe.

"There is no other commonality between the victims, so we can safely conclude that this is the factor that drew the Unsub's attention to them. Because it's not a noticeable trait the Unsub will have had to invest countless weeks and months investigating his targets. This means he's patient, obsessive, and still in enough control of his impulses that he can take the time to be certain of his victim. He's not psychotic or a sociopath. He's doing this for a, at least in his mind, perfectly rational and logical reason that only he knows."

"Most of you will have seen the Evans abduction video," Spencer saw all of them nod. "Then you saw how much of a fight Harrison put up despite being drugged and surprised. We suspect he succeeded in hurting his kidnapper."

"This man may have, or is still, suffering an injured right wrist." Agent Hotchner informed them. "He'll have been favoring that arm more than usual, perhaps wearing a wrap or brace to keep it immobile. He may have even sought medical attention. "

"We don't believe there is an immediate threat to the public," Spencer continued. "But they should be warned to stay in public places, stay with a friend or group. Don't make an easy target. Even though he has a specific victim type, now that we have been brought in he may feel cornered. He may strike out violently or even try to flee the area. He won't run, but he'll be making plans for his escape."

Aaron nodded his appreciated to Spencer before watching the silent and thoughtful police officers in front of him. "Any questions?"

"What are the odds of finding Harrison before this fucker kills him?"

Aaron looked over to Lieutenant Thompson and the fury and concern conflicted in his expression. The look was shared by most of the officers inside the room. "I'm assuming you know him, Lieutenant."

"It's a small county, Agent Hotchner. Less than seventy thousand at the last census. You're unlikely to find anyone within a hundred mile radius who doesn't." An officer wearing a different uniform stood and introduced herself said. "Police Chief Kayla Capers, Society Hill PD. "

"The killer's timeline is sketchy at best," Spencer told them gently. "We know he doesn't kill his victims immediately, but we can't be precise on the length of time we actually have. The months and even years between their abductions to the finding of their bodies, the decomposition makes pinpointing an exact time of death very difficult."

Each of them was bleak, but it was Thompson' angry voice that demanded an answer. "How . Long."

"Working from the most recent victim, Delilah Watterson," Aaron answered, "we're hypothesizing that we've got a few days at best yet. Worse case? Seventy two hours from when he was taken."

"Just over a day left," a local officer in his mid twenties hung his head and the man beside him placed a comforting hand on his back.

The room was heavy with their shared despair and had Spencer clearing his throat at his sense of intruding on a private grief between friends. "We're, uh, advising a higher patrol presence in the rural areas: parks, fields, wooded areas. The Unsub has likely prepped the burial site in advance and they have all been secluded, natural areas. They were only discovered when the civilization expanded into that territory."

"The County Sheriffs and Department Chiefs will be assigning the patrol areas immediately following the Press Conference in Darlington." Aaron informed them.

"So we are looking for a body," the comforting officer sighed sadly.

The two BAU agents shared a remorseful look. "I am sorry," Hotchner said sincerely. "But realistically the chances of finding Harrison Evans alive at this point are small. We'll be airing the profile with a tip hotline every hour and we will follow every plausible lead, but in cases like this… Retrieval after this long is doubtful."

More than one officer was surreptitiously wiping at their eyes. Chief Capers' thicker voice was the only outward sign of her grief. "You have to understand, Agents, that despite being a foreigner, Harrison became a favorite son of Darlington County."

"Why is that?" Spencer asked, genuinely curious.

"His little shop, for one," Thompson explained. "It's done wonders for the economy around here and it brings in tourists."

"But it's more than that," one of the younger officers said from the back. "He's more than that. He once told me that the feeling of community and family is why he moved to such a small town. He didn't, and couldn't, have his own so had to make one."

"I play on the same softball team with him every Sunday," one officer said with a competitive air to the statement.

"He volunteers each week in my wife's kindergarten class," another spoke up with a smile. "She raves about how great he is with them."

"Harrison and I dated for five months last year."

Every eye turned to a faintly blushing officer in the front row, the one that narrowed the time to a day. Some of the looks were knowing and others in surprise.

"He was homosexual?" Spencer asked.

"Is," the officer snapped, leveling a glare at Spencer. "He's not dead until I see a body!"

"He never hid that fact," Lieutenant Thompson spoke over the rising tension. "But he wasn't in your face about it. Like Lieutenant Gough, they just were. In a community this small, there are no secrets."

Aaron nodded. "We'd like to speak with you too, Lieutenant Gough."

"Wayne, Wayne Gough," the young man said calmly. "I'll answer whatever I can, but there were some things he just wouldn't talk about. Not to anyone, no matter how close they got."

"Whatever you can give us will be fine," Spencer assured him.

"If there are no more questions," Aaron prompted, and when none were forthcoming the officers took their leave of the conference room until the two FBI agents and Lieutenants Thompson and Gough were left.

"You can use my office for the interviews if you like," Thompson told them. "I'll let you know when the others get here."

"Thank you," Aaron nodded his appreciation and motioned for Gough to follow them. "We can begin with you, if you're all right with that."

The young man nodded and a moment later they were sitting in the Chief's office.

"Lieutenant," Reid asked the young officer once the door was closed. "Did Harrison ever mention the feeling of being watched, or seeing someone following him?"

"You mean the security upgrades?" Gough nodded. "He didn't say anything about seeing someone of whatnot, but he's always watched everything. He was – is – very cautious. When the bodies were found at the club he had the new system installed within the week. I think he had one placed in his home as well."

"Was he always that paranoid?" Hotchner asked.

"He never talked about why but," the lieutenant paused and shook his head. "He has scars. There's the one on his forehead, but there are more. There's one on his forearm that looks like a knife wound; burn scars on his neck and arms, and I swear to god he has a scar on the back of his left hand that looks like someone carved words into his skin."

"So he's been hurt before," Reid commented.

"He won't talk about his past," Wayne told them. "I do know that whatever happened to him was bad. Really bad. A couple of nights we spent together, the night terrors were like nothing I'd seen before."

Aaron made a note of this. "They weren't just nightmares?"

"You don't scream and thrash and stop breathing during a nightmare. " Gough said unevenly.

"He would stop breathing?" Spencer blinked in surprise.

"Only the once I know of." Wayne ran a hand over his face at the memory. "I couldn't wake him. His screams… sometimes I could hear him screaming for people, shouting their names. But it wasn't just the screams. His body was contorting and he was thrashing around and then he just stopped. I thought he'd had a heart attack. He wasn't breathing and when I found his pulse it was so weak and erratic. I called an ambulance and started mouth to mouth. He didn't start breathing on his own until the EMTs got there and tried to intubate him.

"Doc Samson said it happens sometimes with vets; people who has seen real war and atrocities. He told me it can be even worse for former POWs."

"Post-traumatic Stress Disorder," Aaron named.

Wayne nodded. "I tried to get Harrison to start seeing someone, to get help. Hell, I just wanted him to talk to someone about whatever the hell happened! But he said he was managing; told me it was only as bad as it was on the 'Anniversary'."

"The Anniversary to what?" Spencer questioned.

"He never said," the Lieutenant sighed somewhat sadly. "We stopped seeing each other after that."

"Who's decision?" Aaron already suspected the answer he received.

"His. We're still friends, at least I like to think we are, but he withdrew for a long time after that. It was nearly a week before anyone saw him at the store and even longer before we saw him anywhere else."

"When was this?"

"Last may."

"Did it happen again this year?"

"Not as bad," Gough answered Reid. "Harrison's Sous Chef, Rhys Davies, can tell you more about it, but he had told us that Harrison hadn't come in to work for two days. He was worried about him, since it was around the same time as what happened last year, so Rhys went to go check on him at the house. Apparently, he was drunk and had been the entire time."

"I'm guessing that's unusual for Mr. Evans?" Aaron clarified.

"He has a drink or two, but never in excess. Rhys told us that there were almost two dozen empty bottles in that house. It took him another two days to get him sober enough to go back to work."

Spencer creased his forehead in thought. "You keep saying 'us', 'he told us'. Why is that?"

"Us, all of us," Gough made a circular gesture, "The whole town, we all care about him. Before he moved here, Hartsville was practically empty. Shops were closing down, families were having to move, the drop in the economy really his us hard.

"Then he just shows up one day. A stranger in town was unheard of then, so of course everyone knew when he arrived. He walked around the town, talked to a few people, and the very next day he's bought the store on Main Street and a house a few blocks over. The day after that, he has once construction crew renovating and fixing up the house while he's overseeing a second crew doing the shop. He had them working practically around the clock. In just two weeks he was done and went to work.

"The store wasn't even named yet, I don't think he was ready for business, but the door was never closed. Anyone and everyone who wanted to talk to him were welcomed in that shop of his. And by God, if the heavenly smells coming from inside didn't draw the entire town in at one point or another.

"He started volunteering where he could and became involved in the community. Within the year he brought new life to the town with that chocolate shop of his. At first he didn't have a lot of local sales, I don't think, but he was a wizard when it came to online marketing. From that, the tourism started picking up across the county which in itself is a miracle because there's nothing to see. People were coming from across the country to see his shop first hand and talk to him.

"Businesses started coming back and the town came back to like. We don't know exactly how he did it, but somehow he did. It's why, this past spring, the town council vote to change the sign coming in to town to read "Home of Baker's Dozen" and feature the business logo.

"That's why if we don't find him… if he dies Hartsville dies."

**: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :**

The grating and light returned sooner that he thought it would, and Harrison wondered if he had dozes off. He hadn't realized it he had, the hollow feeling in his core having spread to his heart and soul until despair was overwhelming. He watched with defeated eyes at his killer approached.

"It seems I've been careless, Lord Black," the man said with a sigh. "Not only did you install a security camera, but you managed to capture me on video. This has led the local authorities to call in the FBI."

Harrison refused to let the spark of hope catch. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, turning away from his captor.

"Yes, you're right, it doesn't matter at this point," a hand was heavy on Harrison's shoulder and a twinge of pain through the joint had him cringing and trying to pull away. The hand was removed quickly. "I'm sorry, I had forgotten. I had hoped my limited first aid skills had been enough once I realigned your shoulder. Your pain and suffering will be over soon, Son."

He is aware of the man moving around him, hears him ascend the stairs only to return a moment later. The stones above close over the entrance, sealing captor and captive together. When the first faint splash of water touches his forehead he ignores it, but with the second and third he opens his eyes to see the heavy shadow of the man standing next to him.

"_Purify me with hyssop, Lord,"_ the man was saying reverently, _"and I shall be clean of sin. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Have mercy on me, God, in your great kindness. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Let us pray."_

The words were like ice and a heavy dread replaced Harrison's despair. He pulled against his bindings, his heart racing against his chest as the man continued chanting. He shouted a demand to know what was happening, but the thick gag muffled his cries. He tried again, but a calloused hand clamped down over his mouth and gag while the man continued to pray.

Harrison twisted his head from side to side, desperate to get away from the touch that seemed to burn his skin. He tried to move, but the ropes tying him to the altar were unforgiving and he only succeeded in abrading his skin.

The unrelenting hand was finally taken away from his face with the man's intonation of 'Amen' but his relief was fleeting. The shadow moved from his side to stand over his head. A moment later, a heavy leather strap was draped over his forehead and tightened. He cursed and spat a dozen different profanities around the gag as his last means of mobility was taken from him.

The blood froze in his veins when he saw the flash of metal at the corner of his eyes and a thing hook-like needle came into his view. It was gone a moment later, when the thumb of the man's other hand pressed down on Harrison's eyelid and an oily liquid was left behind.

His heart was pounding against his chest, his breathing coming in panicked pants through his nose. And then his eyelid was pinched closed and pulled up and away from the orb beneath it.

The man began to pray again. _"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…"_

And the needle pierced his eyelid.

Harrison gave in to his fear and screamed.


	4. July 29, 2009 4:35am

**Author's Note:** Can I just say "wow" again! Seriously, wow! 7,000+ hits, 220+ alerts, 120+ faves, and 70 reviews. I am so totally… WOW! I am flabbergasted! And so totally stoked! I can't wait for the chapters to be written so I can get them posted so I can see if you're still reading and liking it! To quote Sally Fields: "You like me, you really like me!"

Now some of the reviews I've gotten have commented on Harrison/Harry's lack of magic use to escape. Some of that will be answered in this chapter; other reasons will be touched on in later chapters. So please bear with me and hopefully all concerns will be addressed before the story is over.

One last note before I let you get on with the chapter: _**Please don't hurt me!**_

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 29, 2009 (__4:35am)_

The coffee stopped working hours ago.

Derek Morgan was stifling another yawn as the government issued SUV pulled into a parking stall in front of the Hartsville Police Department. Despite the hour, the lights were burning brightly and he could see bodies moving inside. He reached over and gently shook his partner's shoulder.

SSA Prentiss opened her eyes and blinked a few times to get her bearing. "Sorry," she started to apologize, only to have Derek wave it off as he keyed off the ignition.

"Don't worry about it," he told her and climbed out of the vehicle.

The two agents entered the station and joined their other team members. "Did you get to the hotel?" Hotch asked the pair when they entered the conference room.

"Do we have the time?" Emily asked, setting a handful of files onto the already covered table.

"Coming up onto fourteen hours," Spencer said wearily.

"The Bishopville PD has nothing," Derek told them, pouring himself a cup of stale coffee. "The first four victims were from within a sixty mile radius of Bishopville. Deacon Hazelaar, the fourth body, was missing for a little over three months before the bodies were discovered. We went by the site, but it's been six years. Despite a monument being placed in the garden by Pearl Fryar and one of the local parishes, there's nothing there."

"Same with the Hanging Rock battleground burial site," Emily handed one file to Hotchner. "They were found during a civil war reenactment in '07. There's nothing left there other than a memorial to the victims."

"We just came from the Hartsville Country Club, and though they've got it cordoned off still, too much time has passed from the original discovery of the bodies till now." Agent Morgan shook his head. "There're the usual candles and pictures and memorials, but otherwise we were unable to get anything from the grave site itself. Did you get anything from Harrison's employees?"

"Nothing that we didn't already know," Spencer shrugged. "Upstanding member of the community, all around nice guy, we did find an ex-lover on the police force, but other than a history of PTSD he couldn't tell us anything new about Evans."

"The tip lines have been inundated with phone calls since we begun airing the profile," Hotchner told them. "JJ and Rossi stayed in Darlington to coordinate with Local and State police. They've been following up what leads they can, but so far nothing has panned out."

Emily stood with her arms heavy across her chest, staring at the board of smiling faces of the dead. "How does he find them?" She asked suddenly. Seeing her team regarding her she nods to the board. "His victims; what about them makes him have to learn more until he finds what he's looking for?"

"They do something," Aaron said.

"Like what?" Derek shook his head and sat back on the edge of one of the tables. "His victims all vanish from the records at the age of eleven. What could they possibly do to make him even suspect that that's the case?"

"Maybe it's not what they do," Spencer looked up from an autopsy report in his hand to the board of pictures they were all now looking at. "Maybe its how he perceives they do it?"

"It's almost five in the morning, Reid," Emily said patiently after a moment of silence filled the room. "You're going to have to explain that one."

"Beside the anomaly in their public records, there is another commonality to the victims," He told them, picking up a couple of folders from the table. "Harrison Evans has a very successful business, good looks, connections to the British Royal Family. Going back to Terrance McDonald, victim number two; he had his own law firm, successful and never lost a case in almost thirty years of practice. Victims eight and nine, the Pattisons; they ran an antique and collectibles business online and their last tax return had them claiming nearly a million dollars their first year in business. Even Caleb Zimmerman, victim number three and only nineteen years old; he had signed a multi-movie deal with one of the studios in Los Angeles. He disappeared before filming started on what ended up being the next year's highest grossing film. Elizabeth Graham, very successful holistic and all natural beauty products business. Deacon Hazelaar, raced NASCAR for two years – never lost a race - before moving into politics, had connections across the State."

"They were all successful in their chosen careers," Hotchner interrupted. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"They weren't just successful," Reid clarified, "they were incredibly successful. Disregarding Emma Tinkerton for the moment, none of our victims had more than a GED or equivalent before moving into their chosen field. Yet those who went on to secondary education graduated in the top percentage of their class. Those that didn't go to college or university were instant successes and gaining notoriety."

"So they're talented," Derek said.

"Yes, but what if our Unsub saw it as more than that." Spencer rummaged through a table of pictures and started laying them out. "Prior to death, the victims' mouths and eyes were sewn shut. This was something that was practice in the Middle Ages, around 800 AD, during the European Witch hunts. Before an accused Witch was to be hanged, they would sew their eyes and mouths together. It was believed that they could curse someone by just meeting their gaze or the use of certain words of phrases; magic spells. "

"Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil," Hotch quoted.

"Exactly," Spencer nodded. "But the ears were left open so they could hear the words of condemnation of their fellow man. The practice fell away for a few hundred years before the belief changed so that to save their immortal souls the eyes had to be sealed to prevent them from seeing the Devil's temptations and the mouth to stop them from answering Satan's entreaties."

"So the killer thinks these people are so successful because they're Witches and use Satan given powers for earthly gains?" Derek asked. "He's a Witch Hunter."

"But none of the victims were hung," Aaron pointed out.

"No, but they were suffocated," Dr. Reid reminded them. "The ante mortem bruising to their faces shows that he used his own hand to kill them. Hand over the sewn mouth, thumb and forefinger pinching the nose shut. It would have been terrifying, but quick and relatively painless."

"If he was only hunting them, he wouldn't be kind in his method of killing," Emily commented. "Nor would he be keeping them alive for at least three days. He's trying to save them. He gives them the chance to confess their sins."

"After three days you'd be willing to confess to anything if it meant freedom," Hotchner said.

"When they confess their sins, he grants them eternal peace."

"Okay, so what?" Derek found his eyes straying to the picture of Harrison. "How does that help us find Evans before he's killed?"

"He would have had to have been educated," Spencer said. "You don't learn these kinds of historical details in high school. Some Theology or History programs will go into depth into the Witch Hunts, but given the religious aspect of the murders I'd say most likely a Seminary or Monastery."

"Our killer is a priest?" Emily gaped.

"Or was raised and educated by one," Hotchner agree with Spencer's theory. "He may have witnessed someone persecuted and murdered for witchcraft. The righteousness of it may have led him down this path."

Derek finished dialing and held his phone out as it connected.

"_Are you getting any sleep, baby cakes?"_ Garcia's voice was still chipper despite the early hour. "_Because between you and JJ I'm not and having QWERTY face in the morning is not something I'm looking forward to."_

Morgan smiled. "Sorry, sweetness, but we need your magic touch."

"_Of course you do_," Penelope teased, _"so tell the all knowing goddess of hidden things what you're looking for."_

"We need you to go back, Garcia," Hotchner told her over Derek's speaker phone. "Late sixties, early seventies, see if there were any unsolved murders with a similar MO. Suffocation, strangulations, pre or post mortem mutilation to the eyes and mouth."

"_That's a tall order,"_ the clicking of computer keys could be heard. _"Where am I looking?"_

"Stay to the same counties our victims come from," Spencer answered. "He would have staked out the same killing territory as his predecessor."

"_Right_."

"Also, cross reference the local clergy men of the four denominations." Hotchner instructed, "Anglican, Catholic, Lutheran, Mormon. See where they studied and why they obtained their callings."

"There won't be anything for the Mormons," Spencer told them as she worked. "Their Bishops don't study to hold the position, but are called by higher authorities in the church. Theirs is a voluntary calling and some only serve for a couple of years before the next is called. Mormon Missionaries are the only ones that go off to study and that's for only a few weeks at the age of 19 at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah and then they only serve for two years and never in their home region."

"So a Mormon won't fit the profile?" Derek asked their resident genius.

"It's unlikely, but not entirely correct," Reid answered. "There are splintered factions of the Mormon church that follow an older doctrine; polygamy and such."

"_Go something_," Garcia interrupted them, "a_ double homicide in Bethune South Carolina, early 1986. Forty-one year old Betty Hill was found stoned to death in the family home. The daughter, Jocelyn, had just turned eleven – it was her birthday – was found in her bed; she'd been suffocated. Both murders were credited to the husband, Forty-seven year old David Hill. His body was found in the basement where he had hung himself. All three bodies had their eyes and mouths sewn shut after they had died. There're pictures and they are not pretty; whoever did it didn't know what they were doing. Police suspected the mutilation to have been done by the Hill's sixteen year old son, Justin, who went missing the same night of the murders."_

"Stoning a witch on his or her way to be hanged was common," Spencer told them quietly.

"Is there anything else, Garcia?" Hotchner asked the analyst.

"_Police found a piece of partially burned parchment in an ashtray."_

"Parchment?" Derek blinked at that.

"What's parchment?" Emily asked.

"It's a thin material made from calfskin, sheepskin or goatskin, often split. It's most common use was as a material for writing on, for documents, notes, or the pages of a book, codex or manuscript."

"_Straight off Wikipedia, baby boy,"_ Garcia told them. _"It was sheepskin and the writing that was still legible was seen as a joke. It was addressed to the daughter, Jocelyn, inviting her to attend the Seattle School of Sorcery. Given that David Hill was known as a religious nut, the authorities felt he paper was a joke that went wrong. No one in town owned up to it, but given the results I wouldn't have either."_

"So Mr. Hill gets this parchment saying his daughter was a witch and snaps," Emily hypothesized. "Blames the wife and kills them both before killing himself in the basement when he realizes what he's done."

"Justin watches all of this and in an effort to protect his family's souls from Satan he sews their eyes and mouths shut." Hotchner finished for her. "Garcia, whatever happened with Justin Hill?"

"_Nothing,"_ she tells them after a few seconds. _"He was reported missing that same night and hasn't been seen since. His paternal grandmother, Jennifer Hill, had him legally declared dead in 1996. She passed away in April 2001 where she lived in a retirement home in Society Hill."_

"Elizabeth Graham went missing in April 2001 from Society Hill." Derek pointed to the woman's picture.

"So maybe Justin Hill wasn't dead after all?" Emily suggested.

"Society Hill is a rather affluent community," Spencer said. "A retirement home there could be fairly expensive."

"Garcia, who was paying for Ms. Hill's geriatric care?" Hotchner asked.

"_Computerized records don't go back too far, but her last six months were paid by an automatic withdrawal from her account. She received nearly half a million after Justin Hill was declared dead. He had inherited the life insurance benefits after his family's deaths but it wasn't ever touched. Jennifer Hill got it as his last living relative."_

"Is there any connection between Jennifer Hill and the first victim?" Derek asked.

"_Elizabeth Graham's obituary notes that she volunteered every Friday afternoon at the River View Retirement Community giving free makeovers and beauty treatments to the female residents."_

"Justin Hill stays in contact with his grandmother," Emily speculated out loud. "When she starts struggling financially he has her declare him dead so she can have the money. Garcia, how did she die?"

"_Heath records show she was in relatively good health for being almost ninety years old. She was discovered in bed on April fourteen 2001, cause of death heart failure. Her heart gave out in her sleep. If it means anything, April fourteen 2001 was a Saturday."_

"So she dies suddenly after a free facial from our first victim," Hotchner was writing quickly on a piece of paper. "It's not a long shot for Justin Hill to connect Elizabeth Graham to his grandmother's death. He investigates her, finds the anomaly in her records at the age of eleven-"

"And connects it to the prank played on his family when his sister turned eleven and sees Witch." Derek concluded.

"Garcia, get hold of JJ and Rossi, have them meet Emily and me in Society Hill. Spencer, Morgan, head back to Hartsville and find anyone who may have had contact or a connection to the River View Retirement Community." He looked up at his team gravely. "We need to find Justin Hill."

**: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :**

The cooling water chilled him as it evaporated from the last of his skin to be cleaned. He had long ago wished for unconsciousness, but it was denied him despite the shock and pain from his treatment.

His eyes were sealed, the thread pulling at the tender lids any time his eyes moved or twitched. His lips were sore and the last of the blood had been wiped away from the stitches. His arms were no longer stretched above his head, but resting on his chest where they were still bound, but with a softer feeling rope, from wrists to elbows.

Harrison had tried, in his desperation, to aparate, but he had learned in the months immediately following the end of the war that aparating when tied was practically impossible. If he forced it, he would have splinched himself and most likely bled out before he could get help. The destruction of his wand had also wounded his core, leaving what little wandless abilities he had unresponsive.

When his captor had finished his sewing and removed the strap immobilizing his head, Harrison had been bathed. While the man continued to pray and chant and sing, his body had been cleaned of days of filth and now he lay shivering on the damp stone altar.

"The dawn is approaching, Lord Black," the man said.

The voice had been right next to Harrison, causing him to jump at the surprise then moan plaintively at the jolting pain the movement cause to his mouth and eyes. He cringed away when a hand touched his face, caressing the hair away from his now sweating forehead and trailing down his cheek. "It's time to begin."

The hand brushed over his tender mouth and he tried to move away from the touch when the hand grew heavy and clamped down on his lips. He was panting through his nose at the fear that overwhelmed him when it was pinched shut between a thumb and finger.

Harrison began to thrash as the man started to pray.

"_In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; may any power the devil has over you be destroyed by the laying-on of my hands and by calling on the glorious and blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, her illustrious spouse, St. Joseph, and all holy angels, archangels, patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors, virgins, and all the saints."_

His legs were still secured to the altar, the position and binding of his arms making them ineffective as he tried to push the now suffocating hand away from his face.

"_By this holy anointing and by His most tender mercy may the Lord forgive you all the evil you have done through the power of sight; through the power of hearing; through the power of smell; through the power of speech; through the power of touch; through the ability to walk."_

Harrison chest burned, the blood pounding through his veins roared in his ears. The man had timed it perfectly, pinching the nostrils closed the moment he exhaled. Beneath the sealed lids he could see the bursting lights in his vision as his need to breathe was denied.

"_Lord, send him aid from your holy place and watch over him from Sion. Let him find in you, Lord, a fortified tower in the face of the enemy."_

His twisting legs stilled and his arms fell limply to his chest. He could barely hear the words spoken over him.

"_Let the enemy have no power over him and the son of iniquity be powerless to harm him. Lord, heed my prayer and let my cry be heard by you."_

He was falling away. His body no longer felt the pain and the dark of his last hours of life deepened.

"_May the almighty and merciful Lord grant you pardon, absolution, and remission of your sins._

_The Lord be with you._

_Amen."_


	5. July 29, 2009 7:50am

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay in updating. It was a bit of a rough week for me. Last weekend was mother's day and the first since my mother passed away. I, uh, didn't handle it very well.

I had a bit of trouble with this chapter. This is a transition chapter, going from point A to B, and man was it harder than I thought! I just want to say: _thank god for Google maps!_ LOL! I was able to get a clear picture of the idea in my head and was able to do a semi-decent job of this chapter. I'm not 100 percent satisfied, but for the most part I'm good. It gets the story moving and to where I need it to be.

Anyway, sorry again it took so long.

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 29, 2009 (7:50am)_

"This is all I could get you."

Derek looked up as the Lee County Sheriff, Daniel Simon, walked into the bullpen with a dark brown file box. "At least you still have something," the agent said, taking the box from the older man. "A closed case file after twenty-three years, I'll take what I can get."

"Where's your partner?" The sheriff asked as Derek opened the box.

"She's on her way to Bethune to interview some of the residents." The profiler pulled out a folder of aged photographs. "Damn."

"I remember the case," Sheriff Simon told him. "I was a rookie with the Bishopville PD at the time."

"Do you remember if there was any doubt about David Hill's cause of death?"

"You mean if they thought he might have been killed as well?" the older man shook his head. "No. The ME at the time was damn sure that guy was a suicide."

"But the facial mutilation, the eyes and mouth, they were done post mortem." Derek put down the pictures and pulled the autopsy reports from the box. "It's possible that the son, Justin, killed him as well."

Sherriff Simon shook his head again. "There were no signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds, no trauma of any kind prior to death. Even if the kid helped, Hill died willingly."

Nodding silently as he scanned the report, he put it aside a moment later. "Okay, so what can you tell me about Justin Hill?"

The Sherriff took another file from the box and handed it to the FBI agent. "Not a lot, just what's in that file."

Derek opened it and looked at the black and white picture on the top of the papers. "This him?" He asked, lifting it eye level. Blond, fair skin, a bright smile showing off near perfect teeth and a letterman jacket, Justin was what you would expect from a small town boy.

"Yup," Daniel nodded, sitting on the edge of the nearest desk. "He was a junior at

North Central High in Kershaw, played football, had a girlfriend, just your normal kid from around these parts."

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Derek dialed back to Quantico and was connected only seconds later. "Garcia, I'm going to send you a picture or Justin Hill. Put it in the system and see if you can get me what this guy looks like now… As soon as possible… thanks. I'm sending it now." Disconnecting the call, he used the camera on his phone to take a picture of the photo and sent it a moment later.

"You really think he's our guy?"

"He fits," Derek picked up his cold cup of coffee and drank it with a wince. "We just need to find out who he is now."

"I hate thinking that this Hill kid grew up to be doing this sort of thing," the sheriff picked up the smiling photograph with a frown. "And that he's here, in my town, and has been for years…"

"Look at him, really look at him," Agent Morgan told the man as he finished the last of the bitter liquid. "Thirty-eight hundred people in Bishopville, he's someone that you know. One of the town's religious leaders, or devout followers, you've talked to him about the killings, about the bodies that were found here six years ago." He tapped the photograph. "You know him, Sheriff."

The man snorted his discontent. "There are more than two dozen churches in this town, and I know every Priest and Padre and Rabbi on a first name basis. Thomas, John, Adam, Hebron, Samuel… I can honestly tell you I can't begin fathom that one of them is a sadistic killer."

"He's not a sadist," Derek shook his head. "He takes no pleasure from what he's doing. He's remorseful, even heartbroken that he has had to take his life. He truly believes that he's saving the souls of his victims."

Daniel looked at the picture for several long seconds only to toss it onto the desk with a frown. "When will you have the aged description?"

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

"Tell me again why you've dragged me out here again? It's barely eight o'clock! I should be sleeping right now!"

The truck door slammed shut as the group of a half dozen teens climbed out of the truck bed with inflated tubes and rafts. The driver, a boy about seventeen, leaned against the hood of the vehicle to look at the petite brunette still hanging on to the passenger side door. "Come on cuz, I heard Aunt Beck talking with my mom last night. She said you were seriously messed up after talking with the Feds. Not sleeping or eating and shit like that."

"You have your boss kidnapped by a psycho killer and see how you handle it, Terrance!" Keandra huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

A younger girl, but with similar features to the boy, put an arm around her waist and gave Keandra a gentle squeeze. "You needed to get out of Hartsville, Kea. Aunt Beck asked us to distract you and try to get you to relax. And what better way to relax than float down the Lynches River for a few hours."

The brunette huffed again, watching the other Bishopville teens walking across the rest stop parking lot and down the embankment of the small river that cut through Lee State Park. "Fine, but if I fall asleep and drown I'm so telling mom on you."

The siblings laughed and locked up the vehicle before joining the rest of the group. T-shirts were removed and tucked into waterproof bags. Even early in the morning, the southern summer air was hot and humid, and within minutes the teens were laughing and splashing and enjoying themselves.

It was a barely thirty minutes later, and only a quarter mile from the Hartsville Highway rest stop that one of the other boys perked up. "Do you hear that?"

"What?"

There was a moment's silence before the same boy jerked again. "Right there!"

"Sounds like something breaking," the other boy said.

"Sounds like one of those rain maker things," Terrance said. "You know; the rocks or rice inside a tube."

"Whoa, look at that!" the first boy exclaimed as they came around a bend.

A half dozen heads turned to the east bank of the river, each gaping at the earth that was sliding into the water. Several trees were tilting precariously over the slow moving river. All at once, two started to fall directly in front of them. The girls shrieked in surprise and the boys jumped from their rafts as the trees splashed into the water and blocked the current.

"Did the rain wash it away or something?" Keandra asked as the riderless rafts bounced lightly against the fallen trees.

Her cousin shook his head, sending droplets of water flying. He stood, the water barely touching his hips, and started toward the bank. "It hasn't rained in more than a week and we were here two days ago. Isaac, Colby, help me move these trees so we can get going."

The two other boys joined their friend on shore and climbed up the bank carefully. Terrance was first around the protruding roots of the first tree. "Whoa shit!" He exclaimed and jumped back, his face paling dramatically in an instant.

The girls in the water looked at one another in curiosity then back to the boys when the other two cried out and backed away. "What is it?" Keandra's younger cousin asked as she slipped off the tube she was floating on and into the water.

"Sam, stay there," Terrance snapped at his sister. "Do you got the phone? Toss it to me."

"What is it?" Keandra asked, a fragment of dread creeping up on her as she made her way to shore. Behind her, Sam retrieved the cell phone from the waterproof bag.

"Seriously, Kea, stay there!" Terrance easily snagged the small mobile phone from the air and flipped it open.

She was halfway up the bank when he started dialing and Isaac, a linebacker with the Bishopville High Team, was standing in her way. "No, Kea, you don't want to see this." His voice was choked and he was shaking.

Pushing past the larger teen she was moving around the trunk of the tree as whatever call her cousin was making connected. She barely heard his words as her scream tore through the trees.

"This is Terrance Oberman. My friends and I were on the Lynches and… uh… we've found a body."

Strong arms wrapped around Keandra's body, pulling her away and turning her from the grisly sight. But it was too late; she would never be able to forget the sight of the partially buried body with its eyes and mouth sewn shut.

She spun in the arms, burying her head into the muscled chest of the boy behind her, sobbing. "Oh god, Harrison…"

**: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :**

"Kids have been rafting this section of the Lynches for years," Sheriff Simon told Derek as they, and nearly a dozen county and town officers, trekked upstream along the edge of the narrow river. "They park one car up stream, at the rest stop just off the old highway, and the other is downstream about five miles. There's a farm house just off Jesmar Lane, on the other side of I-20, and the owners' have let the town kids leave their cars there for as long as I can remember. Lynches cuts right through the state park and it's an easy current. Takes a little over three, three and a half hours and they can run it at least three times in a day."

When the call came in to the Sheriff's Department, they were out the door in less than a minute. Derrick had ridden with Daniel and relayed the discovery to Hotch as they sped through the back streets and into the fields just northeast of Bishopville. They had cut through an orchard only to stop when the uniformed apple trees gave way to the wild trees of the state park.

They walked less than two hundred yards to the river's edge and then started upstream to find the kids and their grisly discovery.

"So summer time, this river gets a lot of traffic?" the Agent asked, carefully maneuvering over an outcropping of moss covered stones.

"Not a lot else to do around town," the man told him.

A minute later they could make out the downed trees and could hear the quiet crying of several girls.

"Terrance?" The sheriff shouted as they drew nearer to the trees.

A youth of about seventeen climbed out of the water onto the west back to meet them. Derek couldn't miss how pale the teen looked and how his hands were shaking as he fisted them at his side. "Sheriff. We, uh, we've kept away from the… uh, we stayed away from it."

The older man placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "You did good, son. This is Supervisory Special Agent Morgan with the FBI."

Derek nodded one at the introduction. "Can you show us what you found, Terrance?"

"It's on the other side, but the water's fairly shallow; only waist high on my little sister." The boy motioned for them to follow and they climbed over the downed trees. Three girls sat huddled together, all crying but the two on the outside cuddled the one in the middle protectively as she sobbed quietly.

Daniel cursed quietly and leaned over to whisper in Derek's direction. "That's Keandra Oberman, Terrance's cousin. She works at Baker's Dozen."

Derek winced in sympathy for the girl. One of the female officers broke off from those that crossed the river and remained with the girls.

The water came up to Derek's thigh and he ignored the squelching in his shoes as he climbed onto the opposite bank beside the Sheriff. Two large teens stood at the water's edge, appearing slightly green and shaken.

The sight that greeted the FBI agent was not the most gruesome he had even come across, but there was something disturbing about the way the body was exposed.

Tree roots were wedged up beneath the back, pushing the body up into a semi-sitting position as the tree had fallen. It was still buried from the waist down and its torso was covered in clinging dirt and mud. The arms were resting against the chest and shoulder, dirt stained white cords binding them together from elbow to wrist. One glance at the sewn face had Derek's stomach plummeting. It was Harrison Evans.

They had been too late.

"Damn it!" He wanted to punch something.

"Start processing the scene," Sheriff Simon told several of his men quietly. "Get these kids back to town and call their parents. We need to interview them as quickly as possible. "

In minutes the immediate area was taped off and Derek was watching as the Deputies and Officers worked together to find what evidence they could. The ME had hiked out with them and was given the okay by the PD photographer to approach the body.

"How long has he been out here?" Derek asked the man as he knelt beside the corpse.

"Hard to say," he admitted as he brushed some of the dirt from the abdomen. "Rigor mortis hasn't set in, so less than four hours. I'll take a liver temp to give you an idea of T.O.D."

Derek watched as the medical examiner tilted the body to the side, a needle like thermometer in hand and pressing into the skin.

Like something out of a bad horror movie, the body suddenly jerked violently. The ME cried out and scrambled away. Derek leapt back at the surprise as did several of the officers that had been nearby.

That was when they noticed it.

The body's chest was rising and falling with each panicked breath.

"He's still alive!"


	6. July 29, 2009 10:25am

**Author's Note:** Yay! The hard parts are over! I think I bit off more than I could chew with the first few chapters. All the details and information and investigation stuff, that's so not my forte! But now we're getting to the character stuff, which are my bread and butter when writing. I would have just started here, but I figured the build up and the killer stuff would make a lot more sense instead of just jumping in at the middle. Plus, it was good practice for me and kinda fun! I'm finding new characters to torture and torment. *SQUEE*!

I'm still in awe, every time I update, at the responses I've been getting to this story! I honestly didn't expect it to go over as well as it has! I'm so afraid I'll disappoint y'all! I hope you're still enjoying it!

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 29, 2009 (10:25am)_

The rest of the team was waiting for him by the time Derek arrived at the Carolina Pines Regional Medical Center in Hartsville. "How is he?" the wet and muddy agent asked them.

JJ eyed his dirt stained pants but didn't comment. "The ambulance got here with him just over an hour ago; the doctor's haven't updated us on his condition yet."

Rossi stepped toward the pair, a duffle bag held out to Derek. "I thought you might appreciate this."

"Thanks, David," Derek took the offered bag and draped it over his shoulder. A minute later he was stuffing his soiled clothes into a bag provided by an orderly and rejoined his team in the waiting room.

"Tell us what happened," Aaron asked, leaning forward in his chair while Derek sat wearily in on across from him.

"_He's still alive!"_

_It was a space of several heartbeats before anyone moved, and the first was Derek. He bolted next to the missing man and knelt in the upturned dirt. Harrison Evans jerked away from him, bound hands swinging around and nearly clubbing the FBI agent. _

"_Mr. Evans!" Derek carefully took hold of the man's wrists, holding them securely but gently. "Harrison! I'm Derek Morgan with the FBI! You're safe now, you're safe!"_

_The dark haired man fought against his hold and Derek felt something akin to static electricity tickle across the skin of his arms. It was gone a second later and slowly the panicked pants of breath calmed as Harrison stopped struggling. He collapsed back against the tree roots and dirt, his head lolling slightly to the side in exhaustion. _

_Derek gently laid the bound arms on the man's chest. He started to pull back when trembling fingers latched on to his. Harrison pulled with what strength he had until he was gripping the agent's hand between his. _

_Behind him the sheriff was talking in to his radio, calling for an ambulance from the hospital in Hartsville. The ME moved carefully to Derek's side and tentatively put a hand on Evans' shoulder. The man tensed and flinched away at the touch, a groan of pain emanating from beneath sewn lips._

_The hand was removed instantly from the shoulder and placed on the upper arm. "Mr. Evans," the man spoke soft and calmly, "I'm Dr. Summers with the Sheriff's Department. I would like to remove the ropes from your arms so I can see where you're injured."_

_The man nodded minutely and the Doctor produced a slim scalpel from his equipment. Slowly, so as not to cut the skin beneath the ropes, Summers did as he said he would and a minute later the ropes were gathered into a large evidence bag. The man's arms were gingerly straightened and laid at his sides, a low moan accompanying the action. _

_Through the entire process, he did not release his hold on Agent Morgan. With one hand grasping Derek's, his other reached up shakily to his face and hovered over his eyes._

_Derek saw the ME wince. "I'm sorry, Mr. Evans, but I think it best we wait to remove the – uh, stitches when we get you to a hospital."_

"_In the meantime, we need you to let go of Agent Morgan so we can move you away from here" the Sheriff said from where he now stood near them, eliciting a start from Harrison and a tightening of his grip on Derek's hand. _

"_Work around us," the agent told the older man, placing his other hand on top of Evans' to reassure him._

"It was surreal," the dark skinned agent told them. "It took the EMTs thirty minutes to reach us and the entire time he refused to let go of my hand."

"It's not surprising," Emily assured him. "You were the first to tell him he was safe after days of god know what kinds of treatment."

"I suppose," Derek agreed, though his thoughts went back to the static shock he felt at the other man's touch.

"The kids told the interviewing deputies that the trees fell just as they got there." Aaron told them, something the others already knew but Derek did not. "It's something that's happened before, during long periods of heavy winds and rain, but there have been no significant storms in the area in weeks. There is no reason those trees should have uprooted like that."

"The surface ground was dry," Agent Morgan nodded. "And from where the trees fell, we figure the grave was dug between the two at least three feet away from either one of them."

"Perhaps the digging of the grave weakened the surrounding soil," Spencer speculated.

Derek shook his head. "It that was the case, the trees would have fallen toward the grave not away from it."

"How is he alive?" JJ asked the group. "He was buried – how deep?"

"Almost four feet," Derek sighed and leaned back in his seat, "Same as the others. Everything was the same: the bindings of his arms, the mouth and eyes, the bruising on his face. He looked dead, and I can't even begin to fathom how he survived."

"It's happened before," Spencer told them. "There have been documented cases of people waking up in the morgue hours after being declared dead."

"But to have been buried alive for several hours," David pointed out, "he should have suffocated after only a few minutes."

"We're missing the big issue," Aaron interrupted the debate before it began. "Harrison Evans survived."

"The Unsub will come after him again once he realizes that," Derek followed the team leader's thoughts.

"He was held captive for two days by this guy," Emily said. "He's going to be able to identify him."

"Possibly," Spencer speculated, "Unless he hid his identity from him."

"Why would he?" JJ asked. "He was always planning on killing him."

"In medieval and middle age times, executioners always wore hoods," the genius told them. "This was thought to protect them for the vengeful spirits of those they were tasked with killing. If the Unsub believes in witches and witchcraft it wouldn't be that much of a stretch that he would believe in ghosts. He may have thought to protect himself from Evans' ghost."

"We won't know until we talk to him," Aaron pointed out. "Emily, David, I'd like you to head back to Bishopville. Two gravesites, it's likely that the Unsub is there. Evans was moved sometime last night. Someone may have seen something. JJ, we need to keep this from the media for as long as possible. We don't need to advertise to the Unsub that he failed in killing Mr. Evans. Spence and I will interview Harrison when the doctors are finished."

"What about me?" Derek asked.

"I want you here," Aaron told him as the others gathered their things. "Harrison suffers from PTSD and he has connected to you as someone who will keep him safe. After hearing your report I'm surprised he was able to be transported without you."

"They sedated him," he answered the implied question. "One of the medics was familiar with Evans, and his medical history, and suggested it before he was even strapped to the spine board and basket. Quickest route out was to float him upstream to where the ambulance was waiting back at the rest stop."

The team leader accepted that and went to offer a few last minute instructions to the three agents leaving.

It was nearly forty-five minutes later before a grey haired man in a doctor's coat entered the waiting room. "Agent Hotchner?" he questioned the group.

Aaron stepped forward and took the physicians offered hand. "I'm Agent Hotchner; these are Supervisory Special Agents Morgan and Reid."

"I'm Dr. Erick Samson, Chief of Staff here as well as Harrison's personal physician." The older man motioned for the three to retake their seats. "The hospital notified me when the paramedics were dispatched. As someone he's familiar with, I wanted to be here for Harrison when he came out of sedation."

"So he's awake then?" Spencer asked the doctor.

"Yes," was the response, "We kept him under while we assessed his injuries and removed the sutures from his lips and eyelids. Whatever kind of bastard this guy is, at least he is careful. There was no damage to the tissue surrounding Harrison's mouth or to the eyeballs themselves."

"It's imperative that we speak with him right away," Aaron told the man. "He is the only victim to have survived and he knows who the Unsub is."

"He's going to come after Harrison again," Dr. Samson heard what was being left unsaid. "Isn't he?"

"We believe so," Aaron said plainly.

"He's being moved to a private room and I'd like to keep him a few days." The doctor handed a medical file to Spencer. "For the most part, he's unharmed. There was some nerve damage in his left shoulder due to an improperly set dislocated join, but that should be corrected given time. He's severely dehydrated and malnourished."

"He was starved then," Derek summarized.

"It looks that way," Erick nodded. "The abrasions to his wrists and ankles were extensive but should heal with little to no scarring. I can't say for certain, but he was probably kept restrained the entire time."

"When can we speak with him?" Spencer asked as he scanned the documents and pictures the emergency staff had taken for evidence.

"Now, if you'd like." Dr. Samson stood and the other men followed. "Jerry – uh, Lieutenant Thompson, has already stationed a couple of his officers around the hospital. Wayne and several others have volunteered to remain as security as long as he is here."

"When he can be released," Aaron told the man as they walked through the corridor, "we would like to take him in to protective custody. He is at risk so long as the Unsub is still out there."

"Good luck with that." With an amused snort the physician stopped outside a door that two officers stood on either side of. Lieutenant Gough was one of them and nodded his acknowledgement to the FBI agents and the doctor.

"He's resting now," the officer told the quartet. "But I don't think he's asleep just yet."

Knocking softly on the door, Dr. Samson pushed it open only to stop suddenly. Standing next to the bed was a tall white-haired man in a suit.

Reacting instantly, the FBI and officers were entering the room with weapons drawn in a pandemonium of shouts and orders to freeze.

The man in the suit casually raised his hands to shoulder height and stepped away from a very tense Harrison Evans. "At ease, Agents," he said lightly. "I'm with the government."

"How did you get inside this room?" Gough snapped.

"Let's see some identification," Derek ordered the man, stepping forward when the guy slipped a hand into his jacket's inside breast pocket. A leather billfold was handed to him and he took it while keeping his weapon aimed at the man.

"My name is Agent Lawrence Moffat," he told them as the ID badge was looked at then handed off to Hotchner. "I'm with International M-Class Affairs, a division of the CIA. I am the assigned liaison for the United States Government to the British Government's MI-6."

"Still doesn't explain what you're doing here, Agent," Aaron said after studying the badge closely. As far as he could tell it was legit and he lowered his weapon, the rest following his lead and holstering their weapons.

"He's here because of me," the voice from the bed was weary and hoarse and all attention in the room turned to Evans.

Harrison was sitting up in the bed, his left arm held tight in a sling against his body. His skin was pale, which only seemed to intensify the already bright green eyes. There were at least a dozen, small crimson dots tracing the outline of his mouth and from behind the gold-wired framed glasses they could discern similar marks beneath his lashes.

"You're the FBI," he said carefully, his lips barely moving. "You know exactly who I am."

Agent Moffat stepped back to the bed and handed Harrison a business card. "My number is there, Mr. Evans. When you are released, please inform us so we can relay that information to the British Embassy in DC. Their representative is anxious to meet with you."

The man nodded and a moment later the Hartsville Police escorted the man out of the room, leaving Harrison alone with three FBI agents and his doctor. Dr. Samson approached and adjusted the bed a little more so the man residing in it was more comfortable. "How are you feeling, Harrison?"

The dark haired man sighed and leaned back on the pillow. "Surprisingly tired."

Erick smiled and checked on the fluids that the FBI agents only now noticed dripping into an IV which led into the back of Harrison's hand. "That's to be expected. However, if that little bit of excitement a few minutes ago didn't completely wear you down, the FBI agents would like to speak with you."

"I thought they might," a half grin tugged at the bedridden man's lips only to disappear beneath a grimace.

"Careful, Harrison," the doctor instructed. "The liquid bandages will hold, but only if you're careful."

"We'll keep this short," Aaron told the doctor who seemed hesitant to leave.

Harrison reached with his good hand and gave Dr. Samson's arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm alright, Erick."

The older man responded with a watery smile and patted Harrison's hand. "Call the nurses if you need anything, and when you're ready for sleep we'll give you something to help."

Harrison nodded and a minute later was left with the FBI agents.

"Mr. Evans," Aaron stepped forward, "I'm BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and this is Dr. Spencer Reid and Special Agent Derrick Morgan."

"We've met," Derek said lightly with a small smile.

A blush touched pale cheeks and Harrison ran a hand through newly washed hair. "Yeah, I'm, uh, sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it, Kid," Derek chuckled kindly at the younger man. "Anyone in your position would have done the same."

"Kid?" Harrison responded with a light chuckle of his own. "You're what, five, maybe six years older than me?"

"But still older," the man smirked.

Aaron suppressed the smile at his agent's ability to put the witness at ease.

Spencer cleared his throat and took a seat in an empty chair near the head of the hospital bed. "Mr. Evans-"

"Harrison, please." Evans sighed. "You want to know if I can tell you who he was."

"Yes," Aaron agreed from his spot in the chair beside Spencer.

"I can't." Harrison shook his head. "I never saw his face."

"We thought that might be the case," Spencer reassured him. "But anything you can tell us will help us identify him."

"Like what?"

"Like, where you were held?" Derek pulled a third chair from the window and turned it so he straddled the seat with his arms resting on the back.

"He kept it dark," Harrison told them after a shaky breath. "It was a stone room, lit with maybe a half dozen candles."

"A stone room?" Spencer prompted.

"I'm pretty sure," Harrison nodded. "It was underground, too, I think. Whenever he came a portion of the ceiling would open and it grated like stone against stone."

"Did he climb down a latter, or stairs?" Aaron asked.

"Stairs," was the immediate answer. "I could see it clearly whenever he came down, he always had a torch – flashlight – with him and it was bright. Seven stone stairs, white; same as the walls and altar."

"Altar?" Derek asked.

"Yeah. He, uh, kept me tied to it the entire time." He lifted his wrists to show him the bandages surrounding them. "I felt like I was in a bad horror movie, the ones where they tie their sacrifice on some wannabe god's altar. Wrists, ankles," he moved the hospital gown to show him ligature marks on his abdomen, "torso."

"Did you talk to him?" Spencer questioned.

"He did the talking," Harrison answered. "I was always gagged."

"What did he say to you?" Aaron asked.

"Made sure I knew he knew who I was," Harrison scoffed.

"That you're a political big wig back in the UK?" Derek clarified.

"A very long string of names and titles I only got because I managed to survive." Harrison sneered. "I never wanted power, or infamy, or anything of the like. It's why the US was so appealing. Nobody here knew, and nobody cared."

"But he did," Spencer pointed out. "He found out about the Knighthood and the seats in the house of Lords."

"Yes, and he made sure to twist it all into something ugly."

"How so?" Hotchner asked.

"He would call me Lord Black," the man told them, "said it suited the 'stain to my immortal soul'. He said a lot of things like that; about damnation and hell and salvation and God. Compared me to the others and said that, just like them, he would save me from the devil's temptation. He was convinced I was a witch."

"It's what we've suspected," Aaron confirmed.

"We believe he's a modern day witch hunter," Spencer said. "He comes to grips with your success and, for less of a better word, power in the community by likening it to witchcraft. A sin he has to cleanse you of, to protect his home."

"That explains the praying." Harrison drew his knees up to his chest and leaned his good arm on them. "Hours at a time he would pray over me and touch me – not sexually or anything, but at certain points in the prayers he would press his thumb on my forehead, or my eyes and temples, or draw a cross over my heart. Touches like that. And there was always an oily residue left behind."

"He was anointing you," Agent Morgan explained.

"Harrison," Aaron drew the man's attention to him. "Can you tell us what happened last night?"

His body tensed instinctively, causing Harrison to hiss at the pain in his injured shoulder. He rubbed it gently, absently, as he swallowed sharply. "He, uh, told me it was my last night on earth; hoped I'd be willing to repent my sins. I would have confessed anything and everything he wanted me to it he'd let me, but he never once removed the gag. I don't think he wanted to hear what I would have said."

"More likely he was afraid you would cast a spell on him," Spencer hypothesized.

"Believe me," the man all but snarled, "if I was capable of it at that moment I sure as hell would have."

"What happened, kid," Derek pressed gently.

"I could barely move as it was," Harrison spoke but kept his gaze on the blankets covering his legs. "Two days tied to that alter, and the only part of me that could move was my head. And then he took that away too. He strapped my head down and then did this." He touched his eyes then lips. "I would have welcomed unconsciousness, but I was awake and aware the entire time he was sewing up my face. I wanted to scream, and did until he finished the eyes. I begged him when he finally took away the gag but he said nothing, just kept praying and sewing.

"When he was done he untied my hands, and I think I tried to fight him, but he only tied them again. New ropes and they weren't tied to the altar, but I think I was in shock or something, because I just couldn't fight him anymore. He cleaned me then, wiping away the blood and bathing me. The water was so cold… "

Harrison took a deep, steadying breath and looked up at the three agents. "That was when he said, 'Dawn is approaching, Lord Black,' and proceeded to suffocate me. I think he was praying, but I was more focused on trying to get him off me so I could breathe. I lost consciousness, thought that was it; some psycho had finally killed me. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in the dirt and surrounded by the police."

The others were taken somewhat aback by his statement but it was Derek that vocalized what they were all wondering. "Finally killed you?"

"There are indications," Spencer picked up when it became apparent Harrison wasn't going to answer, "through statements made by your friends and what is in your medical history that you've been a victim of violence before."

Harrison's face suddenly hardened and he depressed the nurses' call button on the side of the bed. "I think we're done now." He told them emotionlessly.

The three exchanged a look before Aaron spoke. "Mr. Evans, the more we know about you and your past the better chance we have of understanding why the Unsub has targeted you and the other victims."

"This is not open for discussion," the man snapped at them with a glare.

"He won't stop until he finishes what he started," Spencer told the aggravated man. "We need to know why he's after you, Harrison. When the Unsub realizes you're still alive-"

"I get it," Harrison practically growled at them his fingers curling into a fist so tight his knuckles were white. "But what happened a decade ago has nothing to do with what's going on right now. Leave it alone."

Derek was surprised by the reaction. "Harrison-"

"I must not tell lies," Aaron said plainly.

Green eyes snapped to unit chief. "Excuse me?" he snarled.

Spencer, having seen where Hotchner had been looking, motioned toward the hand in the sling. "Lieutenant Gough mentioned the scars."

The back of the hand was covered by an adjustment of the sling, hiding the pale scar on tanned skin. His face was blank and his eyes unfocussed. The agents were growing concerned at the sudden stillness of the man when the door opened and Dr. Samson entered, the officers behind him glancing inside the room.

"Everything alright, Harrison?" the physician asked, taking note of the atmosphere of the room. He approached the bed when his patient didn't answer and placed a gently hand on the shaking fist clenched at the man's side. The convulsive flinch at the touch was all the doctor need to know.

He pressed the intercom button on the wall behind the bed. "Ms. Baier, I need 2ccs of lorazepam, stat."

"_Yes, doctor."_

"This interview is over, gentleman."


	7. July 29, 2009 7:40pm

**Author's Note:** Holy crap! I am so totally sorry that it's taken so damn long to update! I have absolute no excuse either, which really stinks! Between writers block, getting distracted by reading other peoples FanFics, and really… no excuse. So very, very sorry!

Thanks everyone for the reviews and the comments and the favs and follows… It kept reminding me I needed to get this chapter written and up! Thank you thank you thank you!

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 29, 2009 (7:40pm)_

_The ache in his shoulder was beginning to throb, the pain flaring through the joint and across the stretched muscles of his chest. He tried to shift, to draw his arm down, but he quickly became aware of the ropes lashed across his wrists. Eyes snapped open in panic as he realized his body was stretched and bound across the smooth altar of stone._

"_Come in hassste to asssissst him, you sssaintsss of God…"_

_He twisted his head to the side, calling out to the figure in the shadows only to have his words muffled by the unforgiving fabric gag taught between his lips. _

"_Come in hassste to meet him, you angelsss of the Lord..."_

_He turned away from the encroaching shadows and the figure coming with them. He twisted his wrists in their bindings, gripping the length of rope extended above his head in his palms and focused his magic as best he could without his wand. Solvo**… Solvo… Solvo!_

"_Enfold in your armsss thisss sssoul…"_

_The bindings tightened painfully around his limbs of their own accord, blood seeping from the lesions hidden beneath the cords. He hissed at the pain, consciously aware as the figure drew ever closer. Only a few feet away…_

"_And take your burden heavenwardsss to the sssight of the Mossst High."_

_A frigid, chalk white hand reached out of the shadows and caressed the side of his face. The touch burned and he cried out once before the hand was clamping securely over his mouth and nose._

"_May Chrissst receive you, for it wasss He who called you," the figure leaned forward, and the snake-like visage of the reborn Voldemort loomed over him, "And I who sssent you!"_

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

The cell vibrated across the surface of the windowsill beside Derek, but he did not turn his attention away from the papers in his hand. The file was as he had read it before, but he was hoping that after hours of reading and cross referencing them he could find something new. So far, he had been unsuccessful.

"Hey Baby Girl," he answered the phone in a near whisper.

"_Hello my Chocolatey Adonis,"_ the sweet voice of Penelope brought a smile to his face. _"How's our witness doing?"_

The agent finally looked up from the files and glanced over to the figure lying in the bed. "Still out," he answered. "The Doctor said the sedation will keep him under until tomorrow."

"_Well, I've been able to dig a little further into the mystery that is Harrison Evans," _she informed him and he leaned back in his chair.

"What have you got for me, Garcia?"

"_Well, he's not the only one in his family that disappeared from public records at the age of eleven,"_ she said somewhat excitedly. _"His mother, Lily Evans, born in 1960, was enrolled in the public system in a little town called Cokeworth but vanishes from records in 1971 at the age of eleven until seven years later when her name shows up on a marriage certificate between her and one James Charlus Potter. The thing is? He doesn't exist."_

"What do you mean, he doesn't exist?"

"Just that," she was clicking away on her computer and he could envision her shaking her head in frustration. _"There is no record of a James Charlus Potter anywhere on the British Isles. No birth certificate, no schooling, nothing. The only time I could find his name was on the registry of the House of Lords in 1977 when he replaced Charlus Ignotus Potter, who I assume was his father. This James guy, whoever he was, was a non-entity until they married in 1978. In fact, all the Potters who held the Seat in the House of Lords were non-existent. I have no other records for any of them._

"_Now, back to James and Lily Potter, after 1978 there's nothing again for either of them until their names are listed as the parents on the birth registry for Harry James Potter two years later in 1980. There was no hospital record of the birth but they could have used a midwife or some other means of delivery. But there's nothing for any of the Potter family until fifteen months later when the death certificates for Lily and James show up in 1981."_

"So they were all off the grid?" Derek was drawn to the man unconscious in the dim room and felt his curiosity peak.

"_Completely,"_ the woman on the other end

"Have you learned anything else on where they were? Or what they were doing?"

"_Not even a smidgen,"_ she admitted reluctantly. _"And believe me, I've tried. However, I did find a few disturbing things regarding his Godfather."_

"The killer?"

"_Well, turns out there's some doubt about the validity of that,"_ she was clicking away again and Derek couldn't help but smile. _"There are no records of a trial, let alone a conviction, of Sirius Orion Black. In fact, he was like James Potter until the man hunt for him in 1993. He didn't exist before then."_

"Wait, you're telling me one of England's most notorious killers-"

"– _Wasn't. When Harrison reemerged in 2000 the first thing he did, after changing his name, was push through a complete Royal Pardon for the man. With no trial, no conviction, and the thirteen people he supposedly killed listed as killed in an accidental gas explosion, it wasn't hard. The Queen herself signed off on the pardon"_

"Who are these people?" Derek murmured, tearing his eyes from where they had remained on the figure in the bed; the figure that was now growing restless. "Garcia, I'll call you back."

He disconnected the call before she could answer and was rising out of his chair when he felt an uneasy chill crawl across his skin. The hairs on his arms were standing on end and the already dim lights started to flicker. Derek was transfixed at the low keening sound coming from the unconscious man and, as he took a step toward the bed, the overhead light crackled and exploded the same moment Harrison bolted upright in his bed.

In the momentary dark Derek thought the man's eyes were glowing, but the door was bursting open a second later and the light from the corridor was spilling across Harrison's face. The effect was lost.

"What the hell is going on in here?" The guarding officer asked, staring at the shattered glass from the overhead bulb littered the floor.

There was no immediate answer. Derek was staring in amazement at Harrison who was bent over at the waist trying to calm his breathing. The officer saw the situation and after a brief hesitation was hollering down the hall for a nurse of doctor.

Derek was moving a moment after that and was beside the witness. "Easy," he said calmly in a low voice, "You're safe."

Harrison's eyes were clenched shut and he swaying slightly. Derek started to reach out to steady the man but held back his hand in uncertainty. When Harrison started to pitch to the side Derek grabbed onto his good arm to keep him from falling from the bed.

""I'm alright," his voice was hoarse and hitched slightly.

"You sure?"

"Nightmare," he nodded slowly and opened his eyes.

"I gathered." Agent Morgan kept a firm, but gentle, hold on his arm, feeling the muscles trembling beneath his palm.

The officer returned at that moment with a young nurse and orderly trailing behind him. The orderly carried a replacement bulb and a broom to sweep up the broken glass. While the nurse checked Harrison's vitals, the glass was removed and the bulb replaced.

"You shouldn't be conscious," the petite woman told her patient when the orderly was gone. "Doc Samson gave you enough meds to keep a man twice your size under for twelve hours at least."

A shaky smile was her only answer and after telling him to rest until the duty physician was back from his rounds, she left. The officer glanced at the pair inside the room before nodding once to Derek then returning to his station outside the room.

That was when Derek noticed he had yet to remove his hand from the other man's arm.

Taking it back in what he hoped was not an obvious manner, Derek reached over to the bedside stand and picked up the gold framed glasses. He offered them to Harrison. "None of the pictures we have on file show you wearing glasses," he commented as they were taken from his hand.

"I prefer contacts," was his explanation, "Harder to get chocolate smudges on them when I work."

"Harder, but not impossible?" the agent couldn't help but tease, wishing a heartbeat later he could bite his own tongue off.

Harrison only looked over at him with a light smile. "In my line of work, sooner or later you get chocolate everywhere. Is that for me?"

Derek looked to where the younger man motioned and saw the duffle hanging on the back of the door. "Your sous chef, Reis, is down as your emergency contract and so Dr. Samson called him to let him know you'd been brought in. He brought you a few things."

"Good man."

The agent was stunned when the other man flung his blankets aside, pulled the IV from his hand, and climbed out of the bed. "You're supposed to be resting," Derek told him when Harrison grabbed the bag and headed for the bathroom.

"I can rest at home."

"Wait, what?" Derek could only stare at the now closed door that separated them.

"I'm going home, Agent Morgan." Harrison's voice came through the wood of the door.

"You can't go home!" Derek replied back. "You – you do realize you were just held captive by a serial killer for two and a half days, Mr. Evans. You need to be in the hospital!"

"Can you guarantee my safety if I do?" the man asked loudly. "I'm not naïve, Agent; I know this son of a bitch is going to want to finish what he started. They always do."

The voice of experience rang in those words, and Derek reminded himself that this was someone who had been hurt and hunted before. "That's why I'm still here, Mr. Evans. Between me and my team, someone from the FBI will be with you twenty-four seven."

"People tend to die when they try to protect me, Agent."

Once again the profiler wondered just what had happened to the man. Before he could voice his protests to that statement, the doctor was pushing open the room door and entering. The man was younger than Dr. Samson, a physician named Jackson Horne if he remembered their introduction earlier.

"Where's Harrison?" Dr. Horne asked the still stunned agent.

"Right here, Jack," the bathroom door opened and Harrison stepped into the room. The sling was gone and he was now dressed in loose fitting jeans and a light long sleeve t-shirt that covered the bandages on his wrists. His glasses had been replaced by his afore mentioned contact lenses and he was carrying a pair of runners in his hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" The doctor was frowning as his patient sat on the edge of the bed and began lacing up his shoes.

"I've been over this with Agent Morgan," Harrison answered grimly. "It's not safe for me here. I can better protect myself at home."

"It's not your job to protect yourself," Derek snapped. "It's mine."

Green eyes lifted and met his and the want to do just that was evident in those gem-like orbs. "I would like nothing more than to leave it to you, Agent, but this bastard could be anyone. Hell, the son of a bitch is probably somebody I know."

Derek couldn't help but be impressed by the man's pragmatism. Most victims refused to believe the perpetrator could be anyone close to them.

"Do your suspicions include me, Harrison?" Dr. Horne asked and there was no masking the hurt in the doctor's honey brown eyes.

Without hesitation, Harrison answered, "Yes," and went back to tying his laces. "Until you can get a name, Agent Morgan, I'm not going to trust my life to anyone."

"Doc Samson isn't going to like this, Harrison." The physician tried. "He only agreed to go home after you'd been sedated. He thought – hell, we all thought you'd be under until tomorrow at the earliest."

"Well, I'm not." The man growled and got to his feet. "I'll sign whatever forms I have to, but I'm going home. Now."

"I can't let you do that, Mr. Evans," Derek said quietly when the doctor left without another word. He approached the tense man and wavered before placing a hand on the Harrison's arm. A spark of static electricity saw him pulling back. "You were almost killed and you've been hurt. You need medical attention"

"It's not the first time," he dismissed and shrugged. "And whatever injuries I've got will heal with time and rest. Both of which I can get in the safety of my own home."

"What of the after effects of the starvation?" Derek prodded. "You need to be monitored.

He was not expecting the snort, or the look, of amusement from Harrison. "Believe me, Agent Morgan, two days without food or water is the least of my concerns."

The agent in him was dying to ask what was meant by that comment, but he was focusing on the current crisis. "I can't stop you from discharging yourself, but you need to be in protective custody. Like you said, this guy could be anyone and whether you like it or not you are vulnerable right now. At least let my team and I do our jobs and keep you safe until we can find him."

The uncertainty in Harrison's eyes was clear as day and Derek decided to push a little more.

"Mr. Evans – Harrison, the killer has been watching you for weeks if not longer. He knows your habits. If he knows you've survived, who's to say he isn't waiting for exactly this – for you to isolate yourself where he can come after you again? Look, I'll take you home myself, but let my team do a sweep of your house. We'll make sure it's safe and we'll set up round the clock protection."

Derek watched the warring emotions in the other man's eyes and was rewarded a moment later with a reluctant nod just as Dr. Horne returned with the against medical advice release forms.

As the doctor went over them with his patient, Derek was stepping out of the room while dialing Hotch on his cell. When the Unit Chief answered the situation was quickly explained to him and the senior agent agreed to meet Derek and Harrison at the Chocolatier's home with Rossi and several of the sheriff's men to do the sweep. When the conversation was complete Derek returned to the room.

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

The house was in a quiet cul-de-sac, only a couple blocks away from the small downtown core of Hartsville. It was a smaller house, with light beige siding and dark green trim, and looked to have been built in the early fifties. It was aged but well maintained and it appeared like a home not just a house. It was not what one would expect for a house for someone with several hundred millions to their name. And yet, as he pulled the government issued SUV behind the dodge ram truck in the driveway, Derek couldn't help but feel that the house suited what he knew about Harrison Evans.

The dark haired man in the passenger seat sighed wearily at the sight that was waiting for him on his street. Two more black SUVs, three County Sherriff's vehicles, and a half dozen Hartsville PD cars; even Derek had to admit it was a little overkill. But what caused more than a few alarms to sound in his head were the dozens of people waiting on the front lawn.

"The one downfall of living in small town America," Harrison sighed again and unfastened his seatbelt but made no move to exit the car.

"Everyone's business is everyone's business?" Derek turned off the ignition and watched as Hotch and Rossi separated from the crowd and approached the idle vehicle.

"I know every one of those people out there – friends and neighbors, all of them – and yet I can't help but wonder if he's one of them," the man muttered as the two agents opened the back doors and climbed into the back seat.

"Mr. Evans, this is Agent David Rossi," Hotchner introduced the man.

Harrison turned in his seat to nod a greeting to the new agent.

"We retrieved your keys from the Sheriff," David told the home owner. "They had been found hanging from the employee entrance of your store the night of your abduction. If you insist on returning home we need to know who all has access, Mr. Evans."

"Reis has the only other set to the house and the shop," Harrison told them. "And even then he has only ever used them in emergencies."

"Well, when he let himself into your house this morning to get some of your things," Aaron said with a frown, "he inadvertently let it out that you were alive."

"And that's a bad thing because you were trying to keep it from the media, right?" the man sighed. "At least they haven't shown up yet."

"We've managed to keep them out of the neighborhood," David acknowledged. "But in towns like this news gets around without the media's help."

"So the bastard most likely knows he didn't actually kill me like he planned and if he's been watching me, like Agent Morgan said, then he also knows I wouldn't remain in the hospital."

"We are prepared to take you into custody, Mr. Evans," Hotchner said with an air of hopefulness. "We have a safe house already prepped and we don't even have to get out of the vehicle. We can leave right now if you want."

Harrison shook his head. "No. This is my home and I'll be damned if I let him scare me away. Agent Morgan said something about round the clock protection-"

"I'll be staying with you as long as needed," Derek confirmed.

"The profile we've developed has eliminated most, if not all, of the local PD and the County Sheriff's Department, so while Agent Morgan is inside the house there will always be at least a pair of officers stationed outside and an increase of patrols in the area."

"Does that mean I can go home, Agent Hotchner?"

"Give us a few minutes to do the sweep. Derek, stay with him."

A moment later, the two agents and a handful of officers were entering the home while the neighborhood watched.

"Sorry you get stuck with babysitting detail," Harrison murmured as he leant back in the seat and closed his eyes.

"I actually volunteered," Derek remarked quietly.

"So it's not just because I latched on to you when I came to in my would-be grave."

The federal agent cringed at the blasé tone the man stated that. "At first," he admitted. "But other than Emily – agent Prentiss, who I don't think you've met yet – I'm better suited for protective detail. I was a beat cop before I joined the bureau, so I know what I'm doing. You work with me and we'll keep this guy away from you."

Harrison turned and opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow questioningly at the agent. "So your boss isn't hoping that I'll identify with you as the one who rescued me and open up to you with all my dirty little secrets?"

Derek couldn't stop his wry chuckle. "Were you a psychologist in a previous life?"

The other man smirked. "Not my first rodeo, I believe the saying goes."

"We just want to understand, Harrison," Derek explained carefully. "It may seem like we're prying, but everything we know about you helps us complete our victimology which in turns can help us flesh out a complete profile on the killer."

"I said it in the hospital, Agent Morgan," Harrison sighed. "What happened a decade ago has absolutely no bearing on what's happening now."

"You can't know that," Derek shook his head and turned to watch the house. "So far we can only find one thing that connects you and the other victims. For all you know, what happened then is the same reason you're being targeted again."

"Does your profile say the killer is megalomaniac with delusions of immortality bent on the domination of his entire country before moving on to the rest of the world?"

"Excuse me?" Derek snapped his head to look at their witness. There was no mirth in the other man's face and the agent swallowed the sudden dry lump in his throat.

Harrison sighed again, weary and exhausted and so obviously tired of the entire situation, but met Derek's shocked gaze. "I'll help you as much as I can, Agent, but there are things you will just have to accept that I won't be able to tell you. Legally, I can't tell you everything."

His mind was racing, trying to connect with Evans' body language and words and what he knew about Britain ten years ago. It fell too neatly in to place for any other explanation. "It was the 90s, and you were… oh my god, you were involved with the terrorist attacks?"

"I was the number one target," was the quiet answer, which just stunned the agent further.

"You were just a kid!"

"They attacked whole villages and families - hell, a boarding school for the elite of the aristocracy! Do you really think my youth was an issue for Riddle or his followers?"

It was almost too much to process, even after years of doing this job and the horrors he had seen. He filed it away for the moment to focus on the present. "You're right; it's unlikely that the other victims were connected in any way to the attacks back then. It is one hell of a coincident that you've been targeted again, though."

"Welcome to my life, Agent Morgan." Harrison turned his attention back to his house as the other agents and officers exited, the Unit Chief motioning for the pair.

It took a couple of minutes to get past the mob of concerned neighbors, several of the women weeping their relief and holding on to Harrison much to his obvious embarrassment. Derek was delegated to carrying the numerous casseroles and deserts that had been made for Harrison. The chocolatier wasn't the only one grinning at his role as pack mule; Aaron and David were not bothering to hide their own amusement.

As the crowd began to disburse and the numerous vehicles depart, the foursome entered the house. Two uniformed County Deputies stationed themselves on either end of the front porch while a second unit began circling the neighborhood. Once the door was closed behind him, Harrison sighed again but this time in relief.

"Where do you want these?" Derek asked, lifted the armful of food for emphasis.

"Kitchen is through there," Harrison motioned down the corridor, "refuse bin is under the sink. If it doesn't all fit, just leave it on the counter and I'll take care of it in a bit."

"You're throwing it out?" Rossi asked after Derek left to the kitchen after a moment's pause.

"I don't eat anything I don't cook, if I can help it," the man admitted and motioned them into the living room. "Look, I'm sorry about getting so defensive earlier. If you can give me half an hour to have a long, hot shower – the sponge bath in the ER left much to be desired – I'd be open to answering some of your questions. But, as I told Agent Morgan, there are just some things that I cannot legally talk about."

"We'd also like to go over some security measures," Hotchner told him. "If you're going to remain here we need to address who does and doesn't have access to you and the premises."

"What about the shop?" Harrison queried. "Will I be able to go back to work?"

"Is that really a good idea?" Derek asked as he came into the room. "Coming home is one thing, but you can't open yourself up to such a risk."

"Until we can apprehend this killer I'm afraid you'll need to inaccessible to most of the public," Hotchner crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. "It may seem unfair, like we're keeping you under house arrest, but in truth we're pressed for time."

"We can't know how long he's been watching," Rossi commented, sitting on the edge of the armchair and leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. "We do know, however, that you've changed the scenario. In the past he would kill and be… satisfied with that for weeks or months until the need arose to hunt again. But you survived and he's going to be very angry. He's going to escalate, and in his mind he'll have to finish what he started."

"Escalate," Harrison absently rubbed at the faded scar on his forehead before picking up his duffle from where he had set it on the floor. "I'm going to grab that shower before we setting in to discuss how this bastard will be coming for me sooner rather than later."

.

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**SOLVO – (Latin) loosen, release, untie


	8. July 29, 2009 10:00pm

**Author's Note:** Okay, I don't know exactly where this all came from, but… yeah…. Warning: there is some severe Hermione bashing. Like I said, I don't know where this came from. I actually like the girl!

That being said, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! I almost didn't want to stop, but where it ends seemed like a good spot. I honestly could have kept going, but the next bit deserves its very own chapter.

Thanks again for all the reviews, comments, messages, follows and favs. I am utterly flabbergasted at the response I'm getting! Really, there are more than 900 people following my little fic and I'm completely, totally floored! I squealed when I saw that!

So, I hope you enjoy this next chapter and you continue to follow my tale. I'm really having fun writing it!

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 29, 2009 (10:00pm)_

"Did Garcia inform you of what she found?" Hotchner asked Derek while the unit chief looked at the impersonally decorated living room. There were no photographs on the walls, only a few general print and paintings.

"Yeah," Derek nodded, following the older man as he moved about the room. "It brought up a lot more questions than it answered. Have you got any more on this Hill?"

"More questions," Rossi answered. "We're working on the theory that he was taught to be a witch hunter and it's looking like he learned the basics from his father."

"We went back from the Hill murders/suicides and there are nine more missing persons between 1971 and 1986 that fit the victim profile." Aaron told him. "Bodies have never been found, and at this point probably never will be."

"David Hill was hunting and killing 'witches' and taught his son," Derek shook his head. "What about in between '86 and the killings we know of?"

"Until we find where Justin was between now and then we won't know where to look," Rossi said. "Logically, it's safe to assume he was killing then as well."

"There was nothing of note before 1971," Hotchner sat on the sofa and his partners did likewise. "While a very devout catholic, David hill had not prior history of extreme behavior. His neighbors had nothing but pleasant things to say about the man."

"Until he married his wife in '70," Agent Rossi corrected. "Betty – short for Alisabeth – was not well liked. According to some of the older residents of Bethune, David and some of his high school buddies went over on a European vacation the summer of '69 after graduation. They came back with the typical backpacking and bumming around England and Western Europe stories, including several rather provocative anecdotes featuring nights in London's red light district. Needless to say, they thought that was the end of that until Alisabeth Carrow showed up six months later, very pregnant and only sixteen years old."

"And being the man he was raised as, did the right thing and married her," Morgan concluded.

Hotch nodded. "Justin was born two months after they married. It was a big scandal. David had to cancel plans to attend college so he could work as his parents wouldn't help financially. Jocelyn and her husband were against the marriage. Apparently, they tried to convince David to take the baby and sent the girl back to England."

"Obviously he didn't," Rossi continued. "That's where we found something interesting. Alisabeth had no formal education. In fact, she didn't exist at all until she showed up in a London orphanage at the age of 11. No birth certificate, not school records, nothing. She ran away less than a year later and was most likely getting by living on the streets and working as a teenage prostitute until she met David Hill."

"So unlike the victims, who disappear from public records at age 11, she didn't show up until then. " Derek ran a hand down his face. "We need to find where she was and where they go."

An abrupt knock at the front door interrupted the trio of agents. The water was still running upstairs and after a shared look between the three, Hotchner got up from his seat and answered the door.

"Sorry to bother you, Agent Hotchner," one of the deputies said then motioned to the woman that was standing just behind him. "This is Ambassador Granger-Weasley with the British Embassy. She-"

"I need to speak with Mr. Potter immediately," the stern looking woman interrupted with what Aaron assumed was a perpetual frown.

With her dark brown hair pulled back into a strict top bun, black rimmed square glasses, and the pinched expression on her face, she looked to the agent exactly what he would have imagined a turn of the century schoolmarm would have looked like. "Do you have any identification, Ambassador Weasley?"

"It's Granger-Weasley," she corrected, her frown deepening despite his belief that it couldn't get any deeper. Never the less, she offered him her credentials.

"Thank you, and my apologies."He scrutinized the ID closely and after a moment handed then back to her. "I believe you are misinformed, ma'am, there is no Potter residing here."

Brown eyes rolled behind glasses and she huffed indignantly. "Evans," She spat the name as if it left a foul taste in her mouth. "I know he's here, so kindly step aside and allow me to speak with him."

The agent felt his hackles rise at her tone and he instinctively stepped forward, blocking her further from the door. "Ambassador Weasley," he began purposefully, ignoring her growled correction as he continued, "the hour is rather late and I'm sure you can appreciate the ordeal Mr. Evans has experienced these last few days. He is resting, currently, and perhaps it will be better for you to return tomorrow afternoon."

"Now see here," the accented words were drawled condescendingly, "I am a British Ambassador and I insist that I see Harry this instant!"

"Let her in, Agent Hotchner, please."

Glancing over his shoulder, Aaron saw the man in question standing in the hall behind him. He was dressed in another long sleeved t-shirt atop loose fitting sweat pants, with a damp towel partially draped over his shoulders while he dried his hair with one end. Rossi was standing just behind him, obviously having retrieved Harrison.

Seeing the tired expression on Harrison's face, Aaron was tempted to deny the request but stepped aside a moment later.

Without so much as a 'by-your-leave', the unpleasant woman walked into the house and stalked up to Harrison. "What the hell, Harry-"

"Harrison," the man snapped his interruption with a scowl of his own.

Hotchner nodded to the deputies and closed the front door as he stepped back into the house.

Ambassador Granger-Weasley huffed. "Why are you still insisting on using that ridiculous name?"

"Like Hermione is so much better," he responded sarcastically, and then shook his head with an exhausted sigh. "I am so not going to fight with you about this again. Call me what you like so you can leave."

"You know her, Harrison?" Derek asked from his spot in the entrance to the living room.

"I had the _fortune_ of attending school with Ms. Granger for seven years," he explained to the agents.

"It's Mrs. Granger-Weasley, Harry," the woman said haughtily.

Harrison frowned. "How? There's no way you and George-"

She sniffed imperially and crossed her arms over her suit jacked covered chest. "If you grew up and came home to care for your responsibilities, you would know these things, Harry."

The dark haired man groaned. "Oh god, Penelope followed through were her threat to leave him and you married Percy."

"She was never good enough for him," Granger-Weasley said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But that's not why I'm here. Really, Harry, kidnapped by a serial killer? How the hell did you let that happen?"

The four men gaped at the woman's audacity, but it was Harrison who found his voice first.

"How I _let_ it happen?"

"Did you miss the attention?" She went on; ignoring the glares she was receiving. "Wasn't one psychotic mass murderer enou- Harry!"

Harrison had moved quicker than the other three realized. He had grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the kitchen swinging door. The pair disappeared behind it, leaving the three shocked agents standing in the hall.

"When will you ever learn to think before you speak, Hermione?" Harrison's voice carried out into the hall.

The Ambassador's voice followed tightly. "They're federal agents-"

"That is not what I'm talking about," he snapped. "You, of all people-"

"Yes, me of all people! She responded just as angrily. "My god, Harry, things like this don't just keep happening! Nott and his father; Yaxley and Rowle; the Carrows; now this? How many times is this going to happen? Who are you going to ask to kill themselves for you this time!"

"That's not fair! He was my best friend! I never asked Ron to-"

"You didn't have to! You refused to come back to school! You wouldn't join the Auror Training Program with him! He had to protect you, didn't he!"

"I didn't need his protection!"

"There were seven assassination attempts in a single year! Hell, you were kidnapped four times in six months! You! And you couldn't bloody well stop the dregs of his followers from coming after you!"

"That's why I left! Damn it, Hermione, you told me to leave!"

"That's because you weren't doing anything! You weren't stopping them!"

"I am not a god, Hermione! I'm a man, nothing more!"

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived! You were supposed to be this powerful wi-"

"Shut up, Hermione! We are not the only ones in this house!"

There was a second of silence before, "But I-"

"It's my home. Only I can do that here. Hermione, no!"

The swinging door slammed open and the Ambassador strode out into the hall. She looked at the three men before raising her hand and aimed something at them. Instinctively all three were going for their weapons as she shouted, "Obliv-"

But Harrison was right behind her and grabbed her arm, pointing what she held – it looked like a stick – at the floor. "Not in my home," he snarled viciously at the woman.

She looked at the man, her expression shocked and fearful at the intensity in his eyes. She took a step back, the furthest his unforgiving hold on her arm would let her, and looked at the three agents with their guns aimed at her. Hermione Granger-Weasley swallowed nervously and looked to her former friend. "Harry-"

"My name is Harrison," he said emotionlessly and flung her arm away from his grasp. "It has been for nine years. You would think, Ambassador Granger, that someone as smart as you could remember that."

"It's Granger-Weasley," she corrected weakly.

"You don't deserve that name." Harrison hissed. "Now get out."

"Harry," she gulped at his glare and without another word she bolted for the door. It slammed behind her and the tension in the air lessened immediately.

Lowering their weapons, the federal agents looked to Harrison as he marched into the living room. He went directly to the liquor cabinet and flung it open. He grabbed a carafe of rich brown liquid and took a long drink straight from the flask.

"Hey," Derek was across the room and taking the decanter from him a second later. "That's not going to help anything."

"Want to bet?" Harrison asked despondently. Feeling their gazes on him he sighed and slumped into the plush arm chair across from the sofa. "What do you want to know?"

"Many things," Aaron admitted as he sat across from the younger man. "But first, I need to know what happened to you when you were eleven years old."

That seemed to surprise Harrison as he looked at the senior agent with a shocked expression. "Why do you need to know that?"

"Because you share a trait with all the other victims," Rossi explained as he retrieved a file from the pile Derek had brought with him. He handed the folder over to Harrison and watched as the man opened it to begin flipping through the missing persons files of the known victims. "All of them – and you – disappear from public records at the age of eleven."

"We believe," Aaron continued, "that anomaly is the reason why the killer – who we think may be a man by the name of Justin Hill – chooses his victims."

"Oh my god," Harrison breathed quietly as he turned to another report and photograph. "They were all muggle-born."

"Muggle-born?" Derek asked as he joined his teammates on the sofa.

Wincing, realizing he had slipped, Harrison looked up from the file to the three men. "How certain are you about this?"

"Very," Hotchner confirmed. "We've learned there are more disappearances in the region during the seventies and eighties. We think that David Hill, Justin's father, was hunting and killing who he thought was a witch as well during the time. The missing persons all fit the criteria."

"We think," Rossi explained, seeing their witness's growing alarm, "that David was exposed to the belief in witchcraft by his wife who was orphaned in the UK when she was eleven years of age. She was a prostitute in London where she met a vacationing David and she became pregnant then sought him out. Before they married, she went by the name Alisabeth Carrow."

"Carrow!" Harrison exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Harrison," Hotchner started carefully, "We heard the Ambassador mention 'the Carrows.'"

"Alecto and Amycus Carrow," he said absently, his already pale face somehow getting paler. "Siblings who followed a psychotic sadist in dozens of terrorists attacks against England during the seventies and again in the nineties. I guess it's possible…"

"What's possible?" Rossi asked when the other man's voice trailed off.

"That they had a sibling," Harrison swallowed and looked like he wanted to cry. Instead, he leaned his head back and covered his face with his hands. "Oh my god, it is connected."

"Harrison?" Derek pressed.

Moving suddenly, Harrison leapt from his chair and picked up the receiver to the telephone, a small business card suddenly in his hand where it hadn't been a moment before. He started dialing. "How soon could you get the rest of your team here, Agent Hotchner?"

"Half an hour," Aaron answered, having turned in his seat to follow the man as he moved. "Mr. Evans-"

His call connected and he turned his attention to that conversation. " Agent Moffat? Harrison Evans... Yes, I'm home now… Yeah, she showed up… She must have been watching and waiting for me… Thank you, I appreciate that. Actually, that's not why I'm calling. Can you get me full disclosure clearance for Agent Hotchner and his team? They need to be told… Positive… Half an hour… That's perfect, thank you. I'll see you when you get here."

Hanging up he turned back to the confused federal agents.

"What's going on, Harrison?" Derek asked.

"I swear, I will explain everything," Harrison pleaded, "but as I said earlier there are some things I legally cannot talk about. Agent Moffat is getting you and your team the clearance so I can, so I suggest you get the rest of them here, Agent Hotchner. I – I have a hard time talking about what happened, and having to tell it once will be hard enough."

"All right," Aaron god up from his seat and excused himself to make the necessary calls.

Exactly twenty-three minutes later, the deputies outside were being excused temporarily as JJ, Spencer, and Emily entered and the two female agents were introduced to Harrison. Agent Moffat had arrived a scant ten minutes after the phone call and soon they were all gathered in the living room.

"Is this everyone?" the white-haired agent asked.

"Garcia?" Spencer had just called the analyst and had her on speaker phone over his cell.

"_Reading you loud and clear, Pretty Boy,"_ the lighthearted voice responded.

Moffat glanced over at Harrison who shook his head. "She should be here. Besides, it would definitely break the ice."

The man nodded, and looked at the BAU Team as though inspecting them. He stopped on JJ and locked gazes with her. "Your fellow agent, Garcia, is she in her office in Quantico?"

"Uh, yes?" JJ answered, confused at the question.

A crack that sounded like a gunshot exploded in the room as the agent disappeared. One second he was there, the next he was just… gone!

"_Guys," _Penelope's worried voice sounded in the stunned silence,_ "What was that?"_ The same gunshot-like sound came through the phone speaker along with the analyst's surprised shriek.

"_Excuse me, Ma'am, but I need you to come with me please."_ The sound came a third time only to come yet again back in the living room as the vanishing agent suddenly appeared with his arms gently holding on to a wide-eyed and frightened Garcia.

No one said anything as Moffat guided the stunned woman to an empty seat then came to stand behind Harrison. As one, the heads of the BAU turned to the pair.

Harrison shrugged and smirked. "So… magic's real."


	9. July 29, 2009 10:45pm

**Author's Note:** I find myself having to apologize yet again for taking so long to update. Although, this is significantly the longest chapter I have ever written so maybe that'll make up for the delay. However, all I can say is: I hate this chapter. I'll just leave it at that.

I've created a story cover for this story, as some of you may have noticed with the new FFNet format. If you want a closer look at the image it's posted on my DeviantArt account and the image link is posted on my FFnet Profile page.

Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, followed, and reviewed since the last update. Makes me smile even when I write crap like this! *meh*

Enjoy! (I hope)

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 29, 2009 (10:45pm)_

"I love that reaction," Harrison's voice was teasing, jolting Derek and the others out of their astounded stupor.

"What was that?" Emily gaped at the two men.

"Apparation," Agent Moffat said evenly, "the near instantaneous transportation between two points. I'm afraid I must apologize, Agent Jareau. To expedite bringing Ms. Garcia here I garnered the image and location of her office from your mind."

"You read my mind?" JJ blinked in amazement.

"Just a cursory scan, when you thought of the office back in Quantico." Moffat admitted. "Legilimency is not a common branch of magic and a strict discipline to master. Not many Wizards are capable of it, so there is little to fear of psychic assault."

"Wizards?" Hotchner arched an eyebrow stoically.

"There are going to be a thousand questions you will have that we could answer," the magical agent explained. "And I assure you, they will be answered. But as this is a pressing matter, perhaps for the time being, I'm hoping we can accept that "magic is real" and carry on."

"Maybe just one more demonstration, Agent Moffat," Harrison suggested with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Very well," the man sighed, and a moment later had transformed into a fully grown snow leopard. The animal let out a throaty growl when Penelope all but cooed at it, and quickly reverted back his human shape.

"Okay, that was pretty cool," Derek muttered.

"What can you do, Mr. Evans?" Penelope asked eagerly, turning her bright eyes toward him expectantly.

"Right now, not a hell of a lot," he answered with a frown. "My core is damaged, so my magic is basically hibernating while it repairs itself."

"Damaged?" Spencer eyed the man with concern.

Harrison swallowed noticeably. "My wand was snapped."

"A wizard, or witch, uses a focus to tap into their magic." Moffat explained to the agents, and with a subtle flick of his wrist a slender, smooth, carved piece of wood fell into his palm. He held it up for them to inspect. "Some use staffs, or crystals, but nearly ninety percent of the world's magic users utilize a wand. They are made of natural and magically enhanced woods and their cores can be any number of components. It's said that no two wands are exactly the same just like no two people are exactly the same. When a wand chooses the witch or wizards it's because the innate mage of the various components of the wand are compatible with the natural magic of the individual. The longer a wizard possesses a wand, the more in tuned it becomes to their magic, the more a part of the user's magical core it becomes."

"Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather core," Harrison told them with a sigh of regret. "It was the wand that chose me when I was eleven years old. I'd had it for nearly eighteen years. When it was snapped it broke the connection between it and my magic."

"Weakening you and leaving you vulnerable to your abductor," Hotchner speculated to which the younger wizard nodded.

"When I'm at my peak I am capable of some small wandless and silent casting" He held out his hand toward the phone across the room and a small card of paper made it half way to his palm before it fluttered to the floor, leaving him pale and with sweat on his forehead. "But, as you can see, I'm a little off right now. I summoned Agent Moffat's card from upstairs less than an hour ago and I still feel like I've been run over."

"You shouldn't have done that," Moffat said quietly, flicking his wand and sending the card back next to the phone. "Any healer worth their magic would tell you no magic for at least three days." He pointed his wand toward the direction of the kitchen. "Do you have any pepper-up potion in stock? Or is there any chocolate in the house?"

Everyone looked at the man incredulously. Harrison chuckled softly. "That's no to the potion, but there's eighty percent dark chocolate on the second shelf in the back of the pantry. Be careful, or you're likely to summon the entire stock."

The American wizard nodded and muttered, "_Accio Chocolate_," and a few seconds later several large bars floated through the living room and into Moffat's awaiting palm. He unwrapped one and handed it to Harrison.

"Why chocolate?" Prentiss asked as the weary man snapped a piece off and placed it on his tongue.

"Theobroma Cacao, or Cacao trees, is actually a magical plant indigenous to Mexico and South America," Moffat explained to them. "The seeds, bark, roots, and leaves are used in several known healing and calming draughts. The process of fermenting, drying, then grinding the cacao seeds to cocoa mass – pure chocolate in rough form – it's actually a magical formula that has been adapted and assimilated by non-magical society."

"Have you ever wondered," Harrison said, not looking as peaked as previously, "why you feel better or lighter after eating even a single bite of chocolate?"

"It's been proven that when eating chocolate it releases the same endorphins in the brain as sex," Spencer provided factually.

"Yes, but why is that?" Harrison quirked an eyebrow at that and placed another piece in his mouth.

The young genius opened his mouth to respond but apparently had no answer. Reid look consternated while both wizard's laughed lightly.

"Back at the situation at hand," Moffat motioned to the files and papers that had been placed on the coffee table centered between them all. "There's a lot that can be explained and questions answered with the knowledge of the magical world. But you're going to need a lot of background and history to understand it all."

"Some of you may be aware," Harrison started after finishing the last of the opened chocolate, "of the terrorist attacked throughout the UK in the 1970s?"

"I was in high school at the time," Rossi nodded.

"For obvious reasons," Agent Moffat explained to them, "it was never revealed that the terrorists were led by a man – a Wizard – who was calling himself 'Lord Voldemort'. His real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, a half blood who believed himself a descendent of one of the four greatest wizards in European history."

"He was an abused orphan who blamed his non-magical father for the death of his mother and his abandonment to an orphanage, and after killing his father and grandparents decided to blame the rest of the non-magical world for his woes." Harrison shook his head disgustedly. "Under the persona of Voldemort, he was able to prey on the aristocracy of the Wizarding world who believed in the purity of blood and their own importance. He gained followers, hundreds of followers, some of them rich and powerful in the magical world and so able to further extend his influence."

"He started attacking mundane villages and families," Moffat continued the history lesson, "particularly those that produced 'Mudbloods' – a very derogatory name for those of mundane ancestry."

"In reality, Tom was obsessed with power," Harrison's gaze was distant as he spoke. "It was always about power, and he had to have it all. He travelled extensively while his followers rained terror across the United Kingdom and parts of Western Europe. He studied every form of obscure and dark magic he could find in every corner of the world. When he returned to England to claim the leadership of his followers, he had corrupted his soul and body to the point that he was not quite human any longer. "

"You talk like you knew him," Derek pointed out

"That's because I did," Harrison admitted quietly.

"Harrison, when he was known as Harry Potter," Moffat told them, watching Harrison closely for any sign that he should stop, "became Lord Voldemort's number one target."

"There's a lot more you need to know," Harrison halted any questions that the BAU team had been about to ask, "before we get to all that."

"During his bid for ultimate power in the British Magical World," the white haired wizard took up the briefing again, "There rose a group of like-minded individuals that united under the banner of Albus Dumbledore, a Light Lord that was credited with the defeat of the second darkest Lord of modern history. He was a paragon of what was good and right and gathered to him others that were bent on stopping Voldemort and his people."

"My parents were two such people," Harrison said wearily. "Dumbledore was the Headmaster of the only school of magic in the UK and recruited those students he knew were against Riddle. They may have only been teenagers, but they were legal adults in our world at seventeen and my father was the Head of an Ancient House by the time he was sixteen when his parents were murdered by Riddle and his followers. So even as young as they were, they were swept up into what was little more than a gang war.

"They married young, only a couple weeks after graduation, and by the time they were nineteen they had faced off against Riddle and escaped several times. Tom saw this as a weakness, as a slight against his power, so began to hunt them and a few others relentlessly. It didn't help matters when a true prophesy was made to Dumbledore. _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...'"_

"It was about you?" Hotchner speculated.

"Despite it being 'war' in the Wizarding world, there were many pregnant women at the time the Prophesy was made. However, there were only two families that had defied and survived Voldemort's wrath at that time: my family and the Longbottoms. The Potters and the Longbottoms went into hiding months before the births of their children. Neville Longbottom was born on July 30th of that year. From what I've learned since then, my mother went into labor around midday on July 31st. She knew of the Prophesy and desperately tried to stave off delivery, even at the risk of her own life. The mediwitch who delivered me told me that my mother lost consciousness only a few minutes before midnight. They had no choice but to deliver and I was born seconds before the calendar changed."

"Literally as the seventh month died," Penelope breathed in utter amazement.

"Even so, it could have referred to either child," Harrison reminded them. "So, the families stayed in hiding. What wasn't known immediately, however, was that someone else heard part of the Prophesy as well. One of the Dark Lord's followers was caught listening in at the door but escaped before Dumbledore could stop him. When the Death Eater – what those loyal to Voldemort were called – told his master what he had overheard every effort was made to discover who the child of prophesy was. We don't know the exact reason why – we think it's because I was a half-blood like him – but he targeted me and my family relentlessly."

"But you were just a baby!" JJ exclaimed, aghast.

"Riddle was insane," the man scoffed. "The rituals he performed for the illusion of immortality shattered his mind. He didn't see a babe; he saw a threat to his bid for power."

"But in going after you, he made it a self fulfilling prophesy," Spencer shook his head.

"He didn't know it all," Harrison pointed out. "His spy had only heard part of it before he was discovered. And even so, Riddle didn't care. I was a threat that had to be disposed of and that was all he cared about. He ordered his followers to find me and my family at any and all cost. He was confident that he would win out, but what he didn't consider – what he never considered – was love."

"Love?" Derek asked doubtfully.

"One of his Death Eaters, the one who brought him the Prophesy, was in love with my mother. He had loved her since the first moment he saw her as children, even before he recognized her as a witch. He introduced her to the magical world, was her first friend in that world, and even through school they maintained their friendship despite being divided by school house. It was only a disagreement, and their own stubbornness, during their sixth year that separated them. He continued to love her even as she married his school rival.

"So, when Riddle announced that her son and family was the target, the spy went to Voldemort and begged him to spare my mother's life. For some reason, the psychopath agreed, but to hedge his bets the Death Eater went to Dumbledore. He swore an oath to Dumbledore and became his spy amongst Voldemort's ranks, telling Dumbledore everything he knew about riddle and his Plans."

"Including the search for you and your family," Rossi said.

Harrison nodded. "My parents took our family deeper into hiding, beneath a spell that kept our location hidden from everyone except the secret keeper and those he informed. It should have been infallible; the information couldn't be read in the secret keepers mind, it couldn't be garnered by Veritaserum – a truth potion – and as long as the individual was strong willed it couldn't be tortured from them."

"You family's secret keeper wasn't strong willed?" Emily asked quietly.

"He was a traitor," Harrison spat venomously. "Peter Pettigrew was a spineless, rat of a man who leached off my father, godfather and friends since they were eleven years old and met on the train to Hogwarts. The original secret keeper was supposed to be my godfather, Sirius Black, but he thought himself too obvious. He believed himself to be strong enough to withstand anything, but he didn't want them to take the risk. He convinced them that no one would suspect Peter as the secret keeper, so at the last moment switched. The spell was cast between the four of them – my mother, my father, my godfather, and Pettigrew – on October 30, 1981. They were dead by October 31."

"To this day," Agent Moffat said in the stunned quiet, "no one knows exactly what happened that night. Facts tell us that three killing curses – which are exactly what they sound like: a curse that kills instantly – were cast that night: one for James Potter, one for Lily Potter, and the third for Harry Potter."

"Obviously, I didn't die," Harrison said bitterly. "My mother had done something to protect me – no one has any idea what it was though – and by some freak of magic, Riddle's third killing curse rebounded-" he touched his index finger to the faded lightning bolt scar on his forehead "-and destroyed his body instead. I was fifteen months old and heralded as the savior of the Wizarding world; the Boy-Who-Lived."

"The celebrations were world-wide," Moffat informed the gathered mundanes. "Even nations, which were unconcerned with the British Dark Lord, celebrated the child who was the first to survive the darkest curse in magic. Avada Kedavra; nothing can stop it, no one had survived it, and here was a babe that had done what no witch or wizard in history had ever done before."

"Dumbledore, however," Harrison sighed, "suspected that Voldemort was not entirely gone, as his body was never found. He believed that Voldemort would return and even if he didn't, he feared the remaining Death Eaters would come after me to avenge their fallen Lord. So, he – in his infinite wisdom – had me taken from my godfather after Sirius himself had discovered my parents' bodies and took me from the destroyed remains of our home. Dumbledore cast some obscure blood wards between me and my only living blood relative – my mother's sister, Petunia – and secreted me away from the Wizarding world."

"Sirius Black, we have learned," Moffat said sullenly, "was devastated at the lost of not only his two best friends, but their child that he had been tasked with raising should anything happen to them. In the Wizarding world, godparents are duty-bound by magic itself to care for their god-children; it's not just an honorary title. So, to have Harry taken from him in the immediate aftermath of his grief, he went mad. Instead of fighting Dumbledore's kidnapping and illegal placement of Harry, Sirius went after Pettigrew."

"Pettigrew escaped," Harrison told them flatly. "When Sirius confronted him, Peter cut off his own finger, after blowing up a street corner in London which killed thirteen non-magicals, and transformed into his animagus form of a rat and disappeared into the sewers. The last grasp of sanity Sirius had broke and he was apprehended and placed in the Wizarding prison island of Azkaban without a trial. No one questioned his guilt, and in the wake of hunting the last of the Death Eaters and the rest of the world's celebrations, no one gave it a second though. He was swept under the rug and as far as anyone was concerned that was the last consideration they gave to Sirius Black."

"In the decade that followed," Moffat continued. "The Wizarding World went back to normal. Purebloods bought and sold political favor – including those Death Eaters that had bought their way out of prison and convinced the public they had been under a curse that controlled their every move and thought. All the while, Harry Potter was kept hidden from society in a home, according to Dumbledore, that was safe and caring and everything that the Boy-Who-Lived deserved."

Nearly all the BAU agents blanched at that. Seeing this, Harrison eyed Agent Hotchner curiously.

"In our initial investigations," the unit chief explained, "we did extensive back ground checks into the victims, including you."

Harrison cringed. "So you know about the Dursleys."

"Yes," Aaron confirmed. "At least, we saw the eight complaints made to child services that were never followed up on."

The man snorted in derision. "They were very careful covering their tracks. I may not have ever been beaten black and blue, but being locked in a broom cupboard for ten years and periodically starved and treated no better than a slave and continuously told how worthless and freakish you are tends to leave its own scars. They only moved me out of the cupboard and into my cousin's 'second bedroom' when my first letter from Hogwarts showed up addressed to 'Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs'. They thought someone was watching them."

"Someone knew you were-"JJ was seething.

"I suspected so, but it was never confirmed," Harrison admitted with a reluctant nod.

"So if they knew, why leave you in such an environment?" Spencer inquired. "If you were their savior…?"

Harrison sighed. "Very few people knew where I was and those that did were forbidden from contacting or seeing me in any way. Dumbledore had my parent's will sealed, unread, so he could place me where he felt I would be the safest. The blood wards he had cast were charged by my own magic and so as long as I resided within number 4 Privet Drive I was protected from outside threats. It didn't matter if I was little more than a slave and didn't know my own name until I began primary school. For the greater good, my happiness and childhood were acceptable sacrifices. Nothing else mattered as long as I was alive to be used as a weapon against Riddle he returned."

"Which, I'm guessing, he did?" Derek asked with a shake of his head.

"When I was eleven," the young wizard confirmed. "When Voldemort's curse rebounded that night, he was reduced to less than a spirit. He fled, bidding his time and gathering his strength, until he was able to possess the body of Quirinus Quirrell. Quirrell was to be the Defense against the Dark Arts professor my first year at Hogwarts."

"The perfect guise to get close to you," Rossi pointed.

"I wasn't the target that year," Harrison shook his head. "Yet somehow I ended up facing him and that's when Dumbledore got the confirmation that he needed that Voldemort wasn't really gone. It was like Riddle was just waiting for my return to the wizarding world before he made himself known. I won't go into details, but almost every year of school I faced him in some form or another. First year was Quirrell, second was a cursed diary that contained a piece of his soul, and at the end of my forth year I was kidnapped and my blood was used in a ritual that brought him back into power. Fifth year his followers were responsible for the death of my godfather and in sixth they killed Dumbledore. Seventh year, well… "

"A piece of his soul?" JJ asked, looking a little ill at the thought.

"A horcrux," Agent Moffat explained. "A wizard would perform a very dark ritual prior to committing murder. The act of killing another does something to the human soul – fracturing it if you will. Through the ritual, the wizard can enlarge the fracture and literally split the soul. A horcrux is the container in which the wizard placed this piece and in essence cannot be killed. The separated piece of soul would keep him bound to this plane, and it is why Voldemort was not defeated that Halloween night. But, destroy the horcrux and the wizard can be killed."

"Most sane witches or wizards would never even dream of creating a horcrux, let alone more than one," Harrison went on. "However, we've established that Riddle was not sane. He had six that he intended to make, and one that he hadn't realized he made."

"How is that possible?" Emily raised an eyebrow.

"The night he attacked my family," Harrison told them. "He went there, we believe, with the intent on using my death as the murder that would create his sixth and final horcrux. However, when the killing curse rebounded on him his soul fractured before his spirit fled his destroyed body. That fragment went to the only place it could without direction." He pointed to the faded scar on his forehead.

"Oh my god," Penelope breathed and covered her mouth with her hand.

"No one knew about the horcrux in the scar," Harrison told the stunned group, "And I only learned about it the night of the final battle on May 2, 1998. Dumbledore had told me about the rest of the horcruxes during my sixth year at Hogwarts. When the diary showed up during my second year, and after I had destroyed it – how is irrelevant right now – he was able to examine it and discern what it was. He began researching Riddle and gaining information on how many there were and what they may be. He found one, a ring, during the summer of 1996 and nearly killed himself when he destroyed it. He survived, but was dying, and had to teach me how to recognize and destroy them. He was killed at the end of sixth year when Death Eaters invaded the school.

"I and my two best friends – Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger – went into hiding during what should have been our seventh year. We were hunting the horcruxes and we managed to destroy all but two. Voldemort's familiar – which had been made into one after Riddle's resurrection forth year – and a diadem that was hidden back in Hogwarts. The only problem was that Hogwarts was under Death Eater control. Two of whom were Alecto and Amycus Carrow."

"When Harrison contacted me about Alisabeth Hill nee Carrow," Moffat said to the group, "I agreed with him it was possible that she was a squib sister to the two Death Eaters. I had my office begin a magical background check on Alisabeth Carrow, and I won't know anything for a few more hours yet, but after I explained the possibility to my superiors it was easy to get you the necessary clearance for this debriefing. If she was related, this is a breach of the statute of secrecy and will come under jurisdiction of the MCA."

"What's a squib?" Hotchner asked curiously. "It sounds derogatory somehow."

"That's because it is," Harrison agreed. "A squib is someone born to a magical family yet incapable of performing magic. It's a mark of shame on almost all Wizarding families, particularly those who view themselves as pure-bloods. Some of the darker families have been suspected of killing their non-magical children rather than having the stain on their family name. Most, however, disown those children and abandon them in the mundane world. The only problem is that these kids don't know how to survive in that world and more often than not end up dead or in situations like Alisabeth's."

"The Carrows," Moffat explained for the other agents, "were a very dark family. They readily followed Voldemort during both wars. They believed that only the Purebloods were worthy of magic and anyone of mundane origins or mixed blood were lesser beings that deserved to be wiped out. They murdered, raped, tortured, with impunity."

"If Alisabeth was raised in that kind of environment," Spencer extrapolated, "she may have grown up resenting 'muggle-born' witches and wizards. They were lesser creatures to her and yet they possessed the one thing she desired most of all – magic. Her resentment may have manifested into violent tendencies as she aged and it's probably safe to assume she was killing any she came across while living as a prostitute."

"We'll never know if she did," Harrison told them with a shake of his head. "That was during a time when the Death Eaters were at their strongest and hundreds of mundanes, muggle-borns and half-bloods were killed. Any that she may have been responsible for would just have been lumped in with the rest."

"This is all well and good, and explains a lot of questions we still had about the killer," Rossi said bluntly, "but how does all this help us find Hill before he makes a second attempt at you, Mr. Evans?"

"Emma Tinkerton," Harrison sifted through the papers on the coffee table and withdrew the youngest victim's file from the mess. He dropped it on top and pointed to it. "She was thirteen years old when she went missing two years ago, meaning she was still in school. Ten months out of the year she would have been away at boarding school, so sometime between the end of June and when she went missing in August is when she would have garnered the son of a bitch's notice."

"Talk to her parents again," the magical agent suggested. "Find out where she went, who she talked to, I'll go back to DC and look into any potential underage or accidental magic incidents. This girl is going to be the key to finding out who Hill is masquerading as."

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

Derek shifted on the surprisingly comfortable sofa at the soft sounds coming from the kitchen. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tried to regain his bearing.

The impromptu meeting of the minds had come to an end several hours ago after a plan of action had been agreed upon. Garcia had been giddy when Agent Moffat took her back to Quantico via magical teleportation, undoubtedly the only one of the BAU to accept the reality of magic with such ease. For the rest of them… it was hard to deny what they had seen with their own eyes.

A faint clinking sounded again in the kitchen and the agent grabbed his weapon from its place on the coffee table and made his way to the room. Harrison has explained that there were 'wards' and charms in place around his house that kept his home secure and only those that had been invited in or had the key could gain access. Still, Derek had the safety off but the gun pointed down with his finger off the trigger, and carefully pushed the door open.

The homeowner was standing next to a gas stove, a ceramic spoon stirring slowly in a small pot while he was adding flakes of shaved chocolate into the pot. He glanced over his shoulder at the FBI agent when the man stepped into the kitchen.

"Sorry," he said quietly, despite them being the only two in the house. "I hadn't meant to wake you."

"Couldn't sleep?" Derek asked gently as he tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

Harrison shook his head and admitted, "Too tense, I suppose. I thought some hot chocolate might relax me. Would you care for some?"

"So would this be considered a magic potion?" He asked the wizard with a wry grin, and was rewarded with a small smile from the other man.

"If you want to get technical," he answered. "Though it tastes better than any other potion I've ever had. It must be the lack of eye of newt and Bubotuber pus."

Derek chuckled and moved to lean against the cupboard next to the Chocolatier. He watched the other man for a moment before speaking again. "I realized something, after everyone else left and you retired, supposedly, for the night."

"What was that?"

"You never finished your story," the older man said with a grin. "What happened with you and your friends? You're here, so I'm guessing you didn't die."

"Actually, I did."

Thinking the man was joking Derek wanted to laugh, but then he saw the look Harrison's face. "Care to explain that one to me? You died?"

Harrison stopped stirring the spoon and reduced the blue flame beneath the pot. "Hermione, Ron and I had been able to get inside Hogwarts and found and destroyed the second to last horcrux. Except Voldemort learned we were there and came after us with everything he had. We ended trapped inside the school and gave those trapped in there with us an ultimatum. They had one hour to hand me over to him or everyone would die."

Derek was horrified at the thought and had to ask, "They didn't…?"

With a shake of his head, Harrison reached for the spice rack next to the stove. "I offered, but they wouldn't hear of it. So, they all started planning, trying to shore up what defenses were left and getting the younger years out of the castle. Only thing was, Dumbledore's spy was able to pass information to me before Voldemort killed him. That's when I learned about the Horcrux in the scar."

"How did you remove it?"

"There wasn't time to figure it out," he told Derek softly as he added a few spices to the pot. "And the only way we knew of to destroy the pieces of soul was to destroy the vessel."

There was a heavy silence between them as Derek understood. "You gave yourself up."

Harrison nodded and started stirring again. "I left before anyone could stop me, pausing only to tell Neville Longbottom – the other boy the Prophesy could have referred to – to kill Voldemort's familiar before anyone tried to kill the man. I then walked out of the school, into the surrounding forest, and right into Voldemort's camp. He didn't waste any time in hitting me with a killing curse, and I was dead."

"Magic can do that?" the agent gaped. "Bring someone back from the dead?"

"No, nothing can do that." The Chocolatier reduced the blue flame again and removed the ceramic spoon. He turned fully to Derek. "The first time Riddle tried to kill me he failed because of my mother, and thus created the horcrux unknowingly beneath my scar. When he shot me with the second killing curse that night in the forest he really had killed me but he also killed that piece of himself inside me.

"Except when I was kidnapped in my fourth year and Riddle used my blood in the ritual to recreate his body, he inadvertently strengthened that bond between us further. In essence, his new body was my own Horcrux. As long as he was alive, I had a choice: I could move on to the next great adventure, or return to my body. I couldn't very well leave him to go after what remained of my friends so, I went back."

His green eyes were haunted, lost in the remembering, and Derek didn't push for more. After a moment, Harrison spoke again.

"The battle was… horrible," he said, turning off the element and removing the pot from the burner. "Our side lost so many, but then again so did theirs. In the end Neville succeeded in killing the snake – Riddle's last horcrux, and I defeated the man. I sometimes wish I had let someone else do it, but in that moment I became the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Conquer. Those people live their hyphenated names."

"Is that why you left?" Derek asked, watching as the other man reached for two large mugs in a nearby cupboard.

"I put up with it for almost two years," Harrison told the agent, dividing the molten beverage. "But it wasn't just the notoriety and fame."

"Kidnapped four times in six months?" Derek accepted the warm mug and quirked an eyebrow when Harrison moved to the table and sat on the edge.

Harrison nodded and took a sip of his cup. "There were factions of Death Eaters that had escaped the final battle – some marked, some not. But, it wasn't just Voldemort's followers. There were attempts at my life from people on our side of the war too. They saw me as too powerful; said that since I defeated the Dark Lord I was going to become the next one."

"That's ridiculous!" Derek exclaimed.

The man took a longer drink of the chocolate then placed the mug on the surface of the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "I will be the first to admit, that yes I was a bit more powerful than the average witch or wizard, but my lack of training and the fact that I only every survived by luck was never taken into consideration. They saw me as their savior and expected me to fix everything. Or they were afraid of me and wanted to take that preemptive strike. Or they blamed me for their failures and wanted me dead. There was no middle ground: Love me, or hate me."

"So what happened?" Derek asked, placing his untouched mug beside him. "Two years is a long time to put up with all that."

"I could deal with it as long as the people I cared about knew the truth, and I though they did." Harrison took in a shaky breath and let his hands fall into his lap as he stared at them. "But the last time… I had been in Diagon Alley, the Wizarding World's shopping district, with Ron shopping for my fiancé's – his little sister – bride's gift. We were getting married in just days and it was probably the happiest I had been in my life. We were ambushed by some of Riddle's remaining followers. They were trying to capture me, not kill me, and they were getting some lucky shots in. They had managed to pin us down in the apothecary shop and one of their spells caused a chain reaction of the ingredients in the shop. The explosion…"

The silence that descended was heavy and Derek had to swallow the lump in his throat at the sight of the tears glistening in vivid jade eyes. "Your friend was killed?" He asked in a careful whisper.

"Ron had leapt on top of me," Harrison choked and a tear fell onto the back of his shaking hand, "when he saw the trajectory of the spell. He pushed me to the ground and took the brunt of the explosion. He saved my life, but at the cost of his own."

Derek watched the distraught wizard take a deep breath and wipe at the moisture in his eyes before reaching again for the mug beside him and taking a deep drink. The agent waited as the man collected himself and when the conversation began anew it was with a steady voice.

"Hermione had been engaged to Ron at the time," Harrison told Derek. "She was… disappointed that I had survived. I couldn't blame her, then, and I still don't. She sided with Ginny – Ron's sister – when she first postponed the wedding and then outright cancelled it. They were both angry with me. Most of the Weasleys were angry with me and even now I can't bring myself to be upset about it. I was supposed to be this great Wizard and I couldn't even save my own best friend from a couple of has been dark wizards."

"You said it yourself to that Granger woman," Derek reminded him gently, "you're only human."

"Yes, well, that Granger woman had the full support of the Weasley family when she told me I should leave England – for my own safety of course."

"And that's why you left?"

"Partly," Harrison took another drink and sighed. "But it was what I learned about two weeks after we buried Ron that was the final straw. I was out in Mundane London when I was arrested-"

"Arrested?! What the hell for?!"

The younger man chuckled. "Nothing, actually. I was taken to Her Majesty the Queen. She had been trying since the final battle to speak with me, but the Ministry of Magic kept giving her excuses and all attempts through the Wizarding world were refused. It seemed that the Magical Government was determined to keep me under their control and didn't want me having anything to do with 'unimportant muggles'."

Derek couldn't help but smirk. "I'm sure that went over well."

"Like a ton of bricks," he sighed. "I had tried to stay out of politics after the battle, but in the conversation I had with The Elizabeth I learned that the Minister of Magic was using my votes in the House of Lords for his own political agenda. I spent days as a guest of the Royal Family, while the Queen and Prime Minister cleaned house in the Wizarding world. By the time it was over, I was once again persona non grata and completely fed up with everything. When The Elizabeth offered me an out, I took it.

"I became a Ward of the Crown, changed my name, claimed my titles, cleared my Godfather's name, and went back to school. I spent eighteen months as an honorary member of the Windsor Family – the Royal Family – and it was hard to leave. William took the longest to convince," Harrison wore a fond smile and chuckled again. "Even then I had to promise to call him at least once a month, visit twice a year and allow him to visit me wherever I was whenever he wanted. He's very possessive of those he sees as family since his mother died. I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet her; I heard she was a wonderful woman.

"But, back to the topic at hand, I settled my affairs and went abroad. I've stayed out of the Wizarding world as much as possible, but I've kept in contact with Neville Longbottom and Minerva McGonagall – one of my former professors and current Headmistress of Hogwarts. Your victim profile of me should have told you what's happened since, as it's all been in the mundane world."

Derek was shaking his head in amazement and picked up his still full mug of now cooling chocolate. "All that and before you were twenty; I'm amazed that you're still sane!"

Harrison outright laughed at that. "Who says I am?"

Derek joined him with a soft chuckle and took a slow drink from the cup in hand. His eyes widened and he licked at a drop at the corner of his mouth. "Wow, this is really good. Dare I ask what's in it?"

"Half and half cream, fifty percent dark chocolate, a little bit of vanilla, cinnamon, dhania and a pinch of chili powder."

The older man took another drink and smirked. "No eye of newt or Bubotuber pus?"

"Maybe next time."

Derek snorted and shook his head, savoring his next sip before speaking. "Do you really use things like that in potions?"

The man nodded. "Venoms, blood, leaves, body parts; everything and everyone contain a bit of magic and every bit of that is useable in potions and other rituals to an extent."

"Even us mundanes?" he inquired, genuinely curious.

Harrison got up from his chair and picked up his cup, taking it to the sink. "In your line of work, have you ever had a sense, a gut feeling, about someone or a situation? Like, you just knew that you or someone you cared about was at risk or in danger? There was no reason for it, nor any clue or evidence that it was true, but you just knew it intuitively? That's your innate magic warning you."

"But everyone has those moments, not just cops or FBI agents."

"True," the wizard agreed. "And that just proves what I said: everyone has a bit of magic in them. Some people are more aware of it than others, like mundane psychics or those paranormal investigators."

"A lot of those people are quacks though," Derek pointed out, finishing the last of his beverage. "They fake it all."

Fair enough," Harrison conceded and took the empty pot from the stove and the cup from the agent. "What about falling in love?"

"You're saying love is magic?"

"It's probably the most powerful magic there is," the other man shrugged with a smile. "Have you every fell in love with someone the first moment you met them?"

"Love at first sight?" Derek scoffed. "You're telling me that it's magic?"

"Somewhat." Harrison nodded. "Magic… it's been theorized that magic is somewhat sentient. In the wizarding world magic can form a bond between two people in an instant. Their magics are compatible and their offspring will almost always be more powerful than the parents. It's been speculated that Magic is trying to strengthen itself in a world where the mundane and technological aspects of it are steadily eliminated the magical element."

"You're talking about soul mates?"

Harrison laughed, "No, nothing as clichéd as that! In a world of more than six billion people, what are the chances that you would actually find that one person! No, Agent Morgan, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of people that you are compatible with. That's why the human species is capable of falling in and out of love. Magic, however, can sometime take the guesswork out. It can draw you to someone you would never have considered as a potential lover or spouse."

"Has that ever happened to you?"

"Oh god, yes!" Harrison blushed and turned back to sink as he ran the hot water. "When I left England and went over to Switzerland, I was completely satisfied with heterosexual relationships. Then I met Anders Niklasson. He was one of my instructors at the culinary institute I studied at. He was more than twice my age and, at first, it horrified me that I was attracted to him! However, he was one of the kindest men I have ever met and so very easy to fall in love with. That's when I realized why my relationships with women were never as effortless."

"Why is that?"

Steam radiated up from the sink as he rinsed the dirty dishes. "Every woman I was involved with, but one, was soft and, for lack of a better word, weak."

"One?"

"Ginny," Harrison admitted and turned off the water, leaving the semi-clean dishes in the sink. "I would have lived a very happy life with her if we had married. She was probably the only woman in the world it would have worked with."

"Why is that?"

"Because, after everything I had been through, I needed someone who was strong and capable of taking care him or herself as well as me when I needed it. The night terrors and flashbacks were never for the faint of heart, and even then a lot of the men I've been with weren't able to handle it."

"So your magic looks for someone who can 'handle it'?" Derek glanced over at the other man. "Does the magic draw them to you as well? Are they even aware of it?"

"You mean, is it consensual?" Harrison asked with a frown. "Always. Just because I, and my magic, am attracted to someone doesn't mean that they reciprocate. It's never forced on either side. If I had not been open to the idea of Anders and me as a couple, and had he not been open to it, it would never have happened. All the magic does is make you aware of the possibility."

"So the… electricity I feel when I touch you… is that what it feels like?"

Harrison paused and after a moment of shocked silence he took a slow breath. "Agent Morgan, what is exactly that you've been 'feeling'?"

Derek shrugged. "The morning we found you, it was like a build-up of static electricity. One minute, it was there and the next it was gone. It's happened a couple times whenever I'm around you, or touch you. Is that what it's like when you're magic draws you toward someone?"

"Sometimes," the wizard admitted. "You could just be more sensitive to magic than you realized. With my wand gone, and my core healing, my magic is a little erratic. You may be just picking up on that."

"But is it?" Derek pressed. "Or are you feeling it as well?"

With a sigh, Harrison turned to him. "Are you gay, Agent Morgan?"

"No."

"Are you attracted to me?"

"Do you mean do I find you attractive? I'm comfortable enough to admit that you are rather good looking."

"Thank you, but I meant what I said. Do you find yourself attracted to me?"

There was a pause before Derek answered. "I don't know."

Harrison closed the scant distance between them until there were only a few inches separating them. Before Derek could react, the smaller man had raised himself onto his toes and pressed his lips against Derek's. The kiss was soft, unassuming, and lasted only a few seconds. It did, however, sent a jolt of something through his body which coiled pleasantly in his gut.

When it ended, Harrison took a step back, allowing the somewhat stunned agent the moments to collect his thoughts. When Derek looked at the man again, there was a warm smile on the other man's face.

"Thank you for the conversation, Agent Morgan," Harrison said quietly with a small bow of his head. "When this is over and done with, you can walk away and never look back with a story to share with Penelope."

Before the agent could respond the other man left the kitchen and Derek could hear the soft footsteps climbing the stairs. Derek was left with the same stunned expression on his face wondering, what the hell had just happened and did he want it to happen again?


	10. July 30, 2009 8:30am

**Author's Note:** I have no excuse. At least, none that I think you'll care about. I've been distracted, and then when I started writing again I was getting sick, and now I have to go through a bunch of preliminary tests and what not so I can go for surgery to make it all better. Joy.

*sigh* Anyway, this chapter was exceptionally difficult to write. It bounces around a lot, but I hope it's cohesive enough that I don't lose any readers because of it. I really have been looking forward to getting to this point in the story and I've juggled a couple of ideas around until I was happy with the scene. I also paid homage to my great grandmother in this chapter. She is an incredible woman who is turning 93 years old this month.

Now, on with the chapter! I really do hope you all enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

* * *

_July 30, 2009 (8:30am)_

"Can I help you?"

"Judith Tinkerton?" JJ asked the middle-aged woman standing behind the screen door.

"Yes," She acknowledged. "What can I do for you?"

"Ma'am," Aaron spoke gently as he showed her his identification, "we're Special Agents Hotchner and Jareau with the FBI. We'd like to speak to you about your daughter, Emma. May we come in?

The woman's breath hitched and she hesitated only a moment pushing the door open for them.

"Thank you," JJ said with a soft smile.

Once inside, the woman showed them into a living room occupied by two children, both around ten years of age. "Simon, Annabelle, can you please go outside and get your father from the garage. Then I'd like you stay in the yard while we talk with these people."

"Sure mom," the boy said as he got up off the floor and turned off the cartoons they had been watching. They both disappeared a moment later and Judith motioned for the two agents toward the sofa.

"This is about the man in Hartsville," she stated as she sat on the loveseat, "Evans, the chocolate man. Have they found his body already?"

"No, Ma'am," Aaron said evenly. "Mr. Evans was found, alive, yesterday morning. We are, however, hoping that you might be able to provide us with an idea as to who might have done this before he goes after Mr. Evans again."

"I don't know how I can help," She said with a sad sigh as a man in greasy overalls joined them. "Donald, these people are with the FBI."

Donald Tinkerton was wiping his hands on a tea towel and nodded in greeting to the two. "How can we help you, Agents?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Tinkerton, we know about Emma," JJ told them plainly. "We know that she was a witch and going to school for magic."

The parents looked at each other and the relief shared between them was obvious. "When Emma disappeared we went to the magical authorities," Donald told them crouching down beside the loveseat next to his wife, holding her hand for support. "But because she was a first generation witch it wasn't a priority for them."

"When we threatened to go to the local police and tell them what we knew, the spelled us so we couldn't speak about anything magical unless someone else told us they knew first." Judith shook her head. "It was several weeks later before someone from that world came to even look for her, but their spells wouldn't work. They told us the locator spells only do that when the person is dead."

"Is that why she was killed?" Donald asked, "Because she was a witch?"

"Yes," Aaron nodded. "All the other victims have been witches or wizards as well."

"We believe," JJ explained to the couple, "that Emma somehow drew the Unsub's attention in the few weeks she was home. Of all the other victims, she is the only one with a specific window of opportunity. We can, hopefully, find what it was that happened that alerted him of who and what she was."

The parents exchanged looks before Donald answered. "Emma was always so careful. There are laws against underage magic and she was almost obsessive about following the rules; she didn't want to have her wand taken from her. So she kept her wand in a case with her school things. She didn't want the temptation."

"She still had the occasional bought of accidental magic," Judith told them. "After her first year, a wild dog had gotten into the yard and scared her and the twins. A burst of magic saw the dog transfigured into a rabbit."

"We still have it, actually," Donald laughed lightly. "Simon and Annabelle dote on the ratty thing."

Judith smiled at her husband before turning back to the agents. "She was terrified that she'd be expelled for it, but she didn't even get a notice for it. Emma was so relieved."

"And during the summer she went missing," JJ pressed gently, "were there any instances of accidental magic?"

"Just one," Judith nodded. "When Emma went off to the Academy in Seattle, she kept a correspondence with her friends from school here. During the summer, they would all spend a couple weeks at the end of July at a Bible camp outside of Greenville."

"There was an accident, one night," Donald took up the story. "Some of the boys were being cruel, teasing Emma and her friends, and it got out of hand. They had locked Emma in one of the port-a-potties and wouldn't let her out. She had always been a little claustrophobic and in her panic her magic lashed out. It tore the door off its hinges and blasted the boys away from it. It was witnessed by several councilors who were about to intervene and they all had to have the memory removed by the magical government."

"Can you remember the name of this Camp?"

"Palmetto Bible Camp," Judith supplied readily. "Several of the local clergymen volunteer there and a lot of the families send their children there. It came highly recommended."

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

When Derek next woke it was to the soft murmur of voices coming from behind the kitchen door. He sat up on the sofa, stretched the muscles in his back and arms, before rising and making his way into the other room.

"Good morning, Agent Morgan," Harrison greeted him at the profiler entered.

"Morgan," Spencer smiled warmly at him.

The pair was sitting at the table, papers and pictures spread across the entire surface between them. Each of them held a coffee mug in their hand and seeing him eying the beverage, Harrison motioned to the carafe warming on the coffee maker beside the stove.

"Help yourself," he told the agent with a nod. "There's cream or milk in the fridge and sugar in the container right there."

"Thanks," Derek acknowledged and went about preparing himself a cup.

"Mr. Evans has been kind enough to go through the victims with me," the young psychologist told him. "Hotchner was hoping we could find more commonality between them, other than the magic thing, that might connect back with the killer."

"Any luck so far?" the dark skinned man queried, leaning up against the counter.

"Nothing we didn't already know," Spencer admitted with a sigh.

"Agent Moffat has been looking for information in the Wizarding World," Harrison told them. "But that's going to take time still. As it is, they won't find anything on them since they left that world and reintegrated into non-magical society."

"What makes you say that?" Derek asked, moving across the room to take a seat at the table with them.

"Wizards, in general, are snobs," the man answered bluntly. "It's not as prevalent here as it was back in England, but the prejudices are still there. They tend to view anything non-magical as inferior and not worth their time. That includes people. A witch or wizard that's given up their place in magical society is considered a traitor and as far as the magical world is concerned they no longer matter or exist."

"That's a rather narrow minded view of things," Spencer stated.

"That may be," Harrison shrugged, "but it's the way it is in that world."

"So, there's nothing new to be found about the victim's lives," Derek started carefully, "what about their deaths?"

"They all died the same way," Spencer pointed out, leafing through some of the photos.

"But not at the same time," Derek motioned to the files. "The autopsy reports gave us varied times of death. Why?"

"He was meticulous." Harrison set aside his half empty mug and Derek noticed the slight tremor of the man's hands.

"Anything that he would have said or done," Spencer said lightly, having notice the mild shakes as well, "it would have been specific. Structured and ritualistic, he wouldn't deviate from that."

"It was all very well rehearsed," Harrison nodded, staring at the surface of the table. "I was meant to die with the coming of the third dawn; they all were."

"So why didn't you?" Derek asked gently.

The man shook his head, absently fingering the strips of gauze that still wrapped the lesions on his wrists. "I honestly have no idea. My only guess would be Magic, but it wasn't anything conscious on my part. I could only hazard a guess."

"So best guess," the agent prompted.

"Magic is sentient." He offered them a small smile at their expressions of disbelief. "It's a popular theory amongst the old families and there is evidence that supports it, especially in recent years. Because of the inbreeding of the pure blood families, our society was dying out. More and more babies were being born without their magic and being cast aside by their bigoted families."

"Like Alisabeth Carrow," Spencer said.

"Yes," Harrison nodded. "On the other side of things, we were also seeing record number of mundane-born witches and wizards being recognized by schools across the world. So instead of our population dwindling to such a proportion that we would cease to exist in a handful of generations, we're seeing a boom of magical children being born to mundane and half-blood families."

"It wants to survive," Derek speculated, earning a large smile from the man that sent a spark of electricity coursing through his chest. He ignored it, knowing now was not the time to question whether or not he was attracted to the man that had kissed him only hours before.

"Yes," Harrison acknowledged and pointed to the profile pictures of the other victims. "With that in mind, my best guess is that their – and my own – magic tried to keep them alive as long as possible. They were put into a magical stasis, appearing for all intents and purposes to being dead, until they could escape or be rescued."

"But other than you," Spencer reminded them, "we've only ever found bodies."

"Magic is not infinite," Harrison explained. "Everyone has their limits and sooner or later their magic would no longer be able to sustain them. The limits would be different for every one of them. Some could have been hours, or days, or weeks, but they were essentially buried alive. Their magic would have drained itself completely and they never would have immerged from that stasis."

"So why were you the exception?" Derek asked, carefully extracting a picture from the only unopened file and placing it in the center of the table. The photo from Harrison's grave site showed the still bound and mutilated body of the man sitting before them lying in the dirt.

Harrison cringed at the image and his fingers seemed to move to his own lips unconsciously, as if reassuring himself that the stitching wasn't there anymore. "I don't know," he whispered after a moment. "There have been times in my life where any other person would have died: the night Riddle tried to kill me as a baby, that night in the forbidden forest, now this. Three times I've been led to Death and that bastard still won't take me."

"Do you want to die?" Spencer asked with a frown.

"Of course not," Harrison snapped, shooting a glare at the psychologist. "I'm not suicidal, but you get to a point in your life where you're no longer afraid of death. I was ready to – hell! I expected to die when I was seventeen years old! But I didn't. I came back and beat the sadistic son of a bitch that tried to do it! And now, here I am again. In that tomb, with that bastard praying over me and anointing me for his god, I fully expected to die! But I'm still not bloody well dead!"

At his words both Spencer and Derek perked up. "Say that again," Derek told the man in a rush.

"What," Harrison blinked at them in confusion, "that I'm still not dead?"

"No, the part about the tomb," Spencer said excitedly. "You were held in a tomb!"

"I've already mentioned that," Harrison said slowly.

Derek shook his head. "You only mentioned stone walls and that you thought you were underground; any form a basement in the area could look like that."

"But a tomb is something specific." Spencer grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. "Can you describe it?"

"White stone walls, underground," Harrison shook his head. "It was hard to see, there were too many deep shadows past the candles."

"Tell me," Spencer urged. "Tell me about the shadows."

"They were shadows." Harrison looked at the Doctor like he had lost his mind.

"Trust him," Derek said, reaching out a placing a comforting hand on the other man's arm, all too aware of, and trying to ignore, the now familiar jolt travelling up his arm. "Close your eyes and try to see it. He'll talk you through it."

Harrison glanced at Derek, uncertainty clear in his eyes, before nodding and closing them.

"Mr. Evans," Spencer began cautiously, "I want you to think back to the first clear moment you have of the room your held. Tell me what you see."

There was no immediate answer, and Derek was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had not removed his hand from Harrison's arm. But feeling the trembling beneath his palm intensifying, he gave the slender arm a reassuring squeeze.

"I can barely make out the ceiling," Harrison swallowed noticeably but didn't open his eyes. "The candles don't give up much light, but enough that I can see that it's made of stone."

"It was white," Spencer coaxed. "You said the stones were white."

"Yeah," He said hoarsely. "Aged, dirty, but they were white."

"Try to hold the memory there; tell me, what can you see beyond the candles? Tell me about the shadows you're seeing."

"This would be so much easier with a pensieve," Harrison murmured, then inhaled sharply an opened his eyes. "Gods, I'm so stupid!" He bolted from his chair, knocking it over at the sudden movement, and reached the phone across the room.

"Harrison?" Derek stared at him while he dialed. "What is it?"

"A pensieve!" He exclaimed, pausing and turning to the two baffled federal agents. "It's a magical artifact. With it, and a wand, memories can be extracted and viewed. I don't have to tell you about where I was held. I can show you!"

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

"Did you ever go to summer camp?" David asked Emily from the back seat of the Hartsville PD SUV as it pulled into a spot outside the cabin-like office.

"I spent most of my youth in foreign Embassies and Consulates." She unhooked her seatbelt and climbed out of the vehicle. "Camps were never part of the itinerary."

"I spent every summer from age nine, until I was seventeen, here," Lieutenant Thompson told them as he climbed out of driver's seat. "And my parents were Atheists. But there's not much to do around here in the summer and a lot of parents send their kids here to keep them out of trouble."

The cabin door opened and an elderly woman exited to greet them as the trio approached. She smiled brightly at the local officer and swept him into a brief hug. "Jerry Thompson, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

"Hello Franny," the Lieutenant blushed at the display and motioned to the two federal agents. "These are Special Agents Rossi and Prentiss with the FBI. Agents, this is Reverend Daisy 'Frantic' Westergreen; she's run the camp for more than three decades."

"Agents," the woman greeted them each with a shake of their hand. "I hope you don't mind asking your questions while we walk. I'm needed down at the lake to oversee the kayaking races in a few minutes."

"We promise to be as brief as possible, Ma'am," David began as he followed the woman away from the graveled lot and toward a path through the trees.

"None of that," she scolded the agent with a whap of the back of her hand to his shoulder. "I may be older than dirt, but around these parts folks just call me Franny."

"My apologies, Franny," David smiled at her.

"Now, what does the FBI want from me?" Franny asked as she took the lead on the narrow path.

"In 2007 there was an incident with one of your female campers and a port-a-potty," Emily said bluntly, causing the camp founder to stop and turn to face them.

"You're talking about Emma Tinkerton," she frowned sadly. "A real shame what happened to her; and the others. I've been praying for Harrison since I heard he was missing."

"You know Harrison Evans?" David asked with mild surprise.

The matron smiled lightly and nodded. "Harrison approached me last August. He came out for our final weekend as a guest counselor. He offered the campers lessons in baking and making chocolates. He made these peanut butter s'mores that were downright sinful! He was slated to do it again at the end of this season."

"Do you get a lot of volunteers?" Emily queried.

"It's the only way the camp has remained open for as many years as it has," Franny admitted. "But I doubt you're here about my volunteers."

"Actually, that's exactly why we're here," David told the woman.

Franny stopped and turned to face the law enforcement officers. "I beg your pardon?"

"Franny," Lieutenant Thompson started gently, "in 2007 Emma Tinkerton went missing a week after she returned home from Palmetto."

"And you think one of my volunteers-" the reverend shook her heard fiercely. "No, it's not possible. Anyone of my volunteers has to adhere to State regulations and bylaws. I have police checks done on anyone before I allow them to spend any time with my kids! Besides, they're all good people! Members of the communities, parents, parishioners, Priests, Bishops, hell, even Rabbi Risikoff comes out for a couple of weeks with his children."

"And we can eliminate most of those individuals, Franny," Emily tied to assure the distraught woman. "We just need to know who saw the incident with Emma and the boys that locked her in the port-a-potty."

With a sigh, Franny started walking again. "I'd have to go through the files for all the names. It may take me a day or two."

"We're only looking for one in particular," David told her. "One of the priests from the area, male, about thirty years old at the time. He would have seen the altercation that night but would have kept his distance."

Franny spun on the senior agent, her eyes wide with horror. "You – you're saying that this killer is a man of God?"

"You've been following these killing like every other person in the state, Franny," Thompson said. "Some of the details have been kept from the public, but the profile the FBI has developed fits a suspect."

"His name was Justin Hill" Emily stated. "He went missing in 1986. We believe that he's returned to the area under another name. We just need to know who he is now."

"There is such a limited window of time from when Emma returned home from school and when she went missing, that we think that's where Hill found Emma Tinkerton," David informed her. "Her parents told other agents about the incident here at the camp a couple of weeks prior to her disappearance."

"A priest?" Franny clarified after a shaky breath.

"Of the Anglican, Catholic or Lutheran faith," David confirmed.

"I am an ordained minister with the Anglican church," the woman said sharply, sounded offended. "None of my fellows would dare commit such atrocities!"

"Franny," Thompson approached her and put a comforting hand on her arm. "I don't want to believe that this psychopath is anyone I know either, but the facts are there. Please, all we need is a name."

Her nostrils flared but a moment later she sighed. "I can think of two who were there that week," Franny told them in resignation. "Neither is of my faith, and I will have to check my files to be completely certain, but I think they were the only Clergymen that volunteered that week."

"Who were they, Franny?" Emily pressed.

"Father Adam Stetsons of St Ann's in Bishopville and Father Edward Hughes of St. Peters in Wedgefield."

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

The strand was like mercury, silver and fluid, and inconceivably being drawn from Harrison's temple by the end of Agent Moffat's wand.

"That's it," the white haired wizard urged the visibly shaking man beneath his wand tip. "I know it's unpleasant, but I can feel we're almost done."

With eyes screwed shut, Harrison nodded as a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face. He inhaled purposefully through his nose and a few seconds later the strand of mercury snapped off and Harrison leaned back in his seat with a sigh.

"I didn't realize it would be painful," Spencer said, almost apologetically, as the magical agent moved to a stone basin that had been placed on the coffee table in the living room.

"It's not," Harrison's voice wavered and he reached for one of the bars of dark chocolate that he had placed there prior to beginning.

"The person relives the memories as they're extracted," Moffat informed them evenly while he dipped the tip of his wand into the flowing liquid inside the basin. The mercury-like memory was deposited and the agent tucked his wand up the sleeve of his suit jacket.

Standing behind Harrison, Derek fought the desire to wrap around the man protectively and settled on sitting on the sofa beside him. He glanced that the dark haired man before place a hand on the still trembling shoulder. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

"No" he admitted, snapping a bit of chocolate off and placing it on his tongue.

"You don't have to take them, Harrison," Agent Moffat told them and folded his arms over his chest. "I can take them into the memory."

"But you won't be able to answer their questions," Harrison swallowed and shook his head. "I can handle it."

"Never thought you couldn't," Derek told him with a soft squeeze to the shoulder. "But if this works the way you say it does, it's not going to be a pleasant experience."

"You think?" Harrison snapped but immediately blushed and shook his head at himself. "I'm sorry."

"You're already stressed out, Harrison," Spencer pointed out to the shaky man. "There is no need to further strain your emotions. You're recovering not just physically and emotionally but, if I understand things correctly, magically as well. Putting yourself, literally, back into that situation may not be the best for you at this time."

"You don't have anything to prove," Derrick assured him quietly, "not to anyone."

The dark haired wizard nibbled on the chocolate a moment then nodded. "Extracting the memories was bad enough," he admitted. Harrison looked up at Moffat. "Thank you."

"Will you be alright while we're viewing this?" the magical agent asked while the other two came to stand beside him.

"The wards are in place," Harrison nodded. "No one's getting in now unless I let them in."

"Very well," Moffat placed a hand on either man's arm and a moment later the three agents' eyes frosted over with a silver light as their consciousness was taken into the pensieve.

_The dozen pillar candles barely cast any light in the large chamber, but it was enough for them to see the man bound to the altar in the center of the candles light. His lithe, nude body was tied as he had described: clean white ropes at his wrists, ankles, and across his abdomen. Green eyes were darting about, apprehension but no real fear beneath them as the memory Harrison took in his surroundings. _

"This is remarkable," Spencer said quietly as he looked about the area with wide eyed amazement. He stepped outside the illuminated area and into the shadows beyond the candles. "The conscious mind would never have been able to capture all the details, but subconsciously it's there. Even hypnosis doesn't produce this kind of clarity! If we could bring this technique in to all our investigations-"

"Believe me, Doctor Reid," Agent Moffat interrupted the excited Doctor. "The CIA has tried. Unfortunately, the process of memory extraction only works on a magical mind."

Derek was aware of the conversation going on between the two men, but his focus was solely on the distressed figure whose memory he found himself in. He noticed the vivid bruising and swelling around the dislocated shoulder but otherwise the man appeared in good health. The whisper of attraction to the man's physique was easily ignored with professionalism.

"This must have been the same night as the abduction," he stated, halting the discussion between Spencer and Moffat and bringing them back to his side. "The shoulder hasn't been tended to, and there's no evidence of the dehydration of starvation yet."

_The last of the chloroform induced haze cleared while they watched as Harrison growled in frustration and began to struggle against his bindings. His arms twists in the ropes, jaw clenching and teeth gnashing against the gag as the cords rubbed his wrists red in a matter of seconds. The pain from his shoulder was evident on his face but he didn't even pause in his efforts._

_For several minutes he tried every angle as he attempted to free his wrists. Blood was beginning to seep between the ropes and with one last jerk of frustration he finally relented. He inhaled deeply through his nose and closed his eyes. After a moment he tilted his head back so he could see the ropes securing him in place. He stretched his arms further, hissing at the discomforted this caused his shoulder, and wrapped his palms around the length of rope. _

"_Folfo," he muttered around the fabric across his mouth, repeating is several times._

"What's he saying?" Spencer whispered as the trio watched the frustration slowly give to desperation.

"_Solvo_, it's Latin for 'release'," Moffat explained. "It's the counter spell to '_Incarcerous'_, a spell of binding."

Derek walked around the altar to gain a better view of the cords securing Harrison to the altar. "It looks like it is working, somewhat." He pointed to the end of the rope knotted to a metal loop imbedded into the stone. "They're loosening."

Moffat joined him and crouched down for an eye view of the knot. "The gag is hindering the incantation," he said as the ropes relaxed fractionally. "His intent is fuelling his magic, but either the chloroform or the injury to his arm is interfering with his concentration. Even without his wand, he's powerful. Enough so that he should have been able to free himself with the first few attempts."

"Harrison says he's not all that exceptionally powerful," Spencer commented from where he stood.

Moffat stood as the memory Harrison started pulling on the ropes as he still attempted the releasing spell. "In terms of standard magical practices and casting, Harrison Evans is an above average wizard. However, Harry Potter had – and apparently still has – the habit of making even what a wizard would define as impossible possible. I can only imagine what he would be capable of if he allowed himself to explore his true potential."

Something about that resonated with Derek and he had to push it aside with the rest of the things about Harrison Evans that were starting to do more than intrigue him. "Regardless, he's almost free now."

_A sharp grating sound echoed suddenly in the quiet, halting Harrison's struggles and drawing everyone's attention to the now visible opening above the set of stairs. A bright light preceded the shadow of a man as he descended, the beam shining directly into Harrison's face and forcing him to look away. _

"That's how he kept his face hidden," Spencer commented, approaching the newcomer as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

_The man kept the LED light in Harrison's eyes and stopped beside the altar. His head tilted to the side as he noticed the loosened ropes at the head of the stone. A sigh escaped him and he reached into his pocket. _

"_Mr. Evans," the man said with an air of disappointment, "I had such hope for you; that you would be the one to be humbled and open to repentance. But it seems as if you are too far ensnared by the false promises of Satan. More so than any of the others. _

_The hand was removed from the pocked and a cloth was pressed down over Harrison's mouth and nose. The man's struggles began anew and already a haze was growing over the scene. _

"Can we stop it?" Derek suddenly asked. "The memory, can we stop it before he loses consciousness? We need to see his face!"

Moffat nodded and a second later the entire image froze, leaving the trio of agents the only ones moving. Derek stepped as close as he could to the Unsub, the man's face shadowed by the candles and the bright light of the flashlight. He allowed a smirk of satisfaction to curl his lips. "I can ID him."

Spencer had crept closer to the bottom of the stairs; tentatively placing a foot on one to make sure it was solid for him. He climbed halfway up, looking out of the opening and into the space above. His eyes were wide when he turned back to the others, his finger pointing overhead. "I know where we are!

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

Harrison watched the agents as their eyes hazed over and stood with a sigh. Taking another bite of chocolate he walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. He needed something more than plain dark chocolate. It may have been the best thing for him and his magic, but after a while the bitterness was too much.

He set the bar onto the table as he passed and opened the pantry next to the fridge. He stepped inside but reached past the stock of baking chocolate and pressed his hand against a panel in the wall. To the side, a section of the shelving drew back and swung to the side.

This was one of the reasons he bought the century old home. There were two secret compartments in the house. One upstairs in the master bedroom that led to an alcove where he kept his magical belongings. Then there was the doorway in the pantry that led down to the cellar. The outside doors to the underground space had been removed years ago, but the cool basement was perfect for his more rare and expensive wines and liquors.

Like the case of Dalmore 62 Single Highland Malt Scotch; a gift from Headmistress McGonagall when had opened his shop. One bottle alone sold for fifty-eight thousand dollars. He had a case of twelve. He was, surprised, to say the least but she assured him she didn't spend a dime, as the distillery had been in her mother's family for generations. In return, he had sent her a couple boxes of a liquor filled dragon fruit chocolates he had made with the Scotch.

It was black in the cellar though he knew the chain for the single bulb light was exactly five paces straight ahead from the bottom of the stairs. There were only eight stairs, and the roof was only a few inches above his head.

He made it down six before he felt the hand on his ankle and the world titled.

The breath was knocked from his lungs when he landed. It had been so sudden he hadn't been able to get his hands up to brace his fall. Harrison heard movement behind him and spun onto his back.

The shadow rising up from beside the staircase, the face shadowed as he was silhouetted against the light coming from inside the pantry. It was enough to send the spike of fear through him and propel him scrambling back.

"Hello, Lord Black."


End file.
